What are you willing to do to scrape up the last piece of remaining reality?
The gentle lull of the train,
Long length of hair baptizing your pillow,
The moment you meet the eye of another in passing cars.
Drying off from a shower, unlocking a door.
Clasp/unclasping your bra, rolling off your socks and leaving them on the floor.
A worm you let escape from beneath the sole of your shoe.
The screech of the pigeon on the neighbors rooftop,
Early morning stampede from the upstairs tenants.
Running your fingers over the clothes hanging on display, touching the shoes,
Buying a soda, throwing it away, stopping at the corner store for a pack of gum.
Turning the volume up and down, stopping to buckle your backpack,
Locking your bike, listening to speeches, daydreaming.
Being tired, closing your eyes, feeling self conscious and opening them again.
Listening to one, two, three different opinions.
Signing your name under the dotted line, delivering mail, recieving a phone call.
Public bathrooms, no toilet paper, unwashed hands, long walks and bus rides,
No wristwatch, mobile phone coverage, reading newspaper headlines while standing in line.
Tapping your legs, biting your nails, scratching your scalp, playing with your hair, looking out the window.
Shopping in the grocery store, weighing apples, grabbing cookies, feeling disappointment, cash exchange and feet in single file, following the path home.
Children laughing, mud puddles, gray skies, traffic jams, stirring the soup, putting away the dishes, never turning on the TV.
A long sleep, and the neon glow of your alarm stubbornly casts its eyes into your direction.