The morning, the freshest mind
A man walking outside
Slowly, with a frayed briefcase in his hands
The hotness on my neck
And grey-blue sky
All those different people on the bus
Their eyes down
By the evening, I will have forgotten all this
All these details wiped away
By the detritus of the day
My mind muddy, buzzing,
And in the end, there’s little left
Only the flickering screen
That will be washed over with sleep