calendar cathedral

Busy doesn’t suit the blue eyes

that miss the open sea.

Her hair’s been tied in a ponytail so tight,

she might rip open at the seams.

She lets the shower run,

lets it wash off in streams

and pokes around for bits of her in the drain.

It seems dinner and booze

sit at the table with the working blues

and the conversation’s drowning

 in the bags under her eyes.

And in the disguise

she fears she might not find herself again.

Again and again,

that is the drill.

So fucking shrill in the morning

with the alarm

that goes

‘here it goes,

here it goes’

Here it goes again.