Thursday, June 23, 2016

Never Remember

I forgot I didn't have shoes on when I got up to go to the bathroom and took one step
on the cold floor with my cold feet before sitting back down
a man I once knew forgot which floor to get off of the elevator from when
I'd pushed the button for the floor above
a woman walked by me and forgot how the sidewalk rose up and down cragged and uneven
she tripped one a break in the flat thinking ground
I forgot how many square little lights could exist until I glanced above my head
at the ceiling of the hallway I was in and saw the pulsing pixels of the world
look down on me

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