Monday sun poured into my bedroom,
work drunk and lonely eyed.
It pushed me toward a cup of coffee
to wash the poems from my tongue.
There’s nothing new in repetition,
grand in same old thing, crows have murder,
humans a nest of spines.
One step forward leaves you ten steps behind.
I walk three blocks to meet the devil at the bus stop
spinning lies through fingerprinted screens.
I feel alone in shoulder to shoulder, body heat
that leaves me cold.
Another week to empty my wallet into the hand
of more is mine.
Silence has no honor. Anger has its price.
I feel a question touch my shoulder.
Are you going to stand or keep your seat?
