Those rooms
Those rooms with windows dont have lights. Those empty apartments, why do they have windows. Afternoon exists outside of them, when the sunlight gets to a sweaty, swollen sag within the sky and it is all full of brown light. The light reaching into the apartments brings more darkness than after the sun goes down. It is impossible to let the fullness of the afternoon in. When the light falls it becomes dust. The only answer is to snuff it out. The real days at my desk dont go by. They start and end together. The chasm that they fall into is me. Where can I be without the world. I have become lost, when I stop with my jobs and look into the stillness of the fluorescent light I am things without time. I am whole empty places. I am, without transformation or comparison, the instant of the hard thing that doesnt fit. What other use does it have than to stop and hold me.