Breath without trees
spooled in blankness
I turn, like turning
on a light. I can't
smell the chemical
process
that changed these trees.
Now I write and it
is
here,
in documented space
between being
uploaded
and published it
does not
exist, unlike the
cold metal bit
you move in your mouth
between teeth.
I breathe,
the air is only
sometimes
free and sometimes
it feels rare
and you don’t
think
how much you hate
the office. The way it drags
down both sides of
your day
the endless dreary
dust caught in the carpet
like degraded
flotsam on the shore.
Already we live with the end of the world
and we are not
sure about breath without trees,
a white feather
spins and spirals and rocks downward surrounded
by a hundred falling leaves.
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