tomorrow is an assumption.

here,
surrounded on all sides by the
callousness and sterility,
the white harsh of the flourescent light,
breathing in this air that
has all the life bleached out of it,
listening carefully-
so carefully,
delicate and terrified-
to the mechanized beeps that echo and tell me
yes, your heart
is still beating on time.

i have never seen you look so
worn out,
so full of lines,
so small.

out the window, in the
dim grey light of november’s end,
the blackbirds perched all along
the telephone wires
and made little perforations
in the infinity of the skyline.