how strange it is to see
the few differences in days,
when everyday is different
& every hour is the same.

i have followed you with gazes
from the back of the room down to
the way your hand holds your head
to imitate an interest. a reminder
of an eon ago, swimming in grey water
thinking to drown, really just existing
making everything worth it, you still
made towers crumble with slight observations.

she undresses the idea down
to bones. so today she knows
the things you think of her;
just some pathetic entity, a body
of words without depth. she is
the everlasting clay
& you'll always
be the flesh.

& yet there is an ominence in
broken fortune cookies,
articulating half-held beliefs
that try to escape all those
straight lines flowing
from stone walls.