Our lives have shrunk to the size of our flat—
the brick beyond the windows may as well
be an artfully rendered, painted matte.

Even when we step beyond these walls
to amble round the park or top up stores
of foodstuffs, diet soda and bog roll,

it’s almost like our bodies are still here
and our forays into the windwept street
happened in dreams we barely remember.

Yet sleep will be a half remembered act
before this month is over, soon the docs
will inform us of the induction date,

our long, appointed hours with future shock.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Apr 09, 2012 @ 22:14:25

    Bog roll…how poetic.


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