tune out for durations
of snapshot creations
flailing my two arms
around in the noise
filling up pages like gas in my car
but I’m known for riding a bike
turn off the noise
my poise is broken
sweating through the night
right through the sheets
anxiety attacking me
heading out into the cold, grey rain
Every weekday, construction workers scurry over the skeletal building, like silent film stars viewed in the modern era. Bangs and crashes and great KAPOWs echo across the paved landscape, til the exhausting roar of a city bus, thick with human figures, obscures them.
When Saturday rolls around, only tarps flapping in the breeze move. The busses’ roars obscures that, too.