Is this Sunday or Friday?
Each day feels the same
Office, chair, window, curtains
Doppelgängers and look-alikes
So impressively like the real thing
Clothes once made the woman
Now it’s phones
Who we see is what we do

Outside some move upside down
Feet waving in the breeze, eyes
Scanning the mud and drowned grass
A few tilt on the side while
Others slowly melt into sidewalks
Absorbed back into the earth
Searching for roots head first

I don’t know what to tell them
But I wonder what it’s like
The rebel’s life underground
Organizing the voles and moles

It’s their form of protest:
I recall my former life
Want it back
Since that’s not possible
I flow into the ground

I too wait for the finishing moment
The sharp second you know it’s ended
A future I know
Yet still can’t feel
Perhaps it’s where
I’ll find you