PAD 2012 - Day 25

We live in a pocket
little lintlings, next to forgotten coins and errant keys.
We worship torn receipts, loose buttons,
scrapped numbers scribbled by new strangers met
on side streets....

It's off to work we go...

I race to arrive at a place I disdain, a fixture
in perpetual arrivals
and departures.  Cloaked in a scowl
an aura that screams for distance.  I invision myself invisible,
untouchable: Queen; of the Escalators,
of the maze of gates , of a path I could walk blindfolded.

I destroy my actuality
for eight and a half solid hours, supress
the "fuck it" on the tip of tongue and finger.

When that sentence is sufficiently served, I am a little less
proud   myself    alive...a little more: tired  disgusted  angry...  
Mask on a bit more firmly, to fall
into a dreamless sleep, wake to rinse and repeat.

Don't know if this s finished it came to me on my commute...