Mind against motion,
The body is too stale.
Pores become moldy sores
And neural fibers combed out,
Smooth like the breaths,
In and out of consciousness.
Smooth like the transition of the day
Flawless when I saw it from my window.
Smooth like the sand that spills
From the holes in my pockets.
The plug fell out of the socket,
While I went running on reserves.
My nerves are shot.
My focus, lost.
So now I run through the courtyard
Equipped with broom and pan,
Trying to make sense
Of the ticks and the hands.
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