As I amuse


It begins in a whistle

A

Pause

Between 

all wrapped up

In the sweets

The gray skies

The heat

All the false pretenses

that smother 

The ammonia floors

the potted

bougainvillea outside the door

It becomes Monday all over again

That is no longer mine

as I walk around my windowless room

The rails that board every window

In my school

the walled up halls

Everything is no longer

like the Mondays

And I could no longer see

The distance

The dotted up children

Under the red painted

Roofings

Or

the familiar faces

In gray skirts

The white undershirts

The fall of notes 

all the longing

the verses 

the fullness.









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