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

When you walk outside you find
Fellow strollers moving upside down
Feet waving in the breeze, eyes
Scanning the mud 
A few tire of walking on their hands while
Others slowly melt into sidewalks

It’s a form of protest:
I recall my former life
Since that’s not possible
I’ll flow back into ground

And wait for that finishing moment
The sharp second you know it’s ended
A future I believe
Yet still can’t quite feel
Perhaps it’s where
I’ll find you?