The half gnaws on the clock
pots sweat / numbers slip
salt = static
steam counts itself wrong
someone keeps multiplying
No cutlery
only relics
forks dreaming of mouths
spoons bent into questions
knife = mirror = no
Are these my people
or just noise wearing shoes
the chairs say nothing
the table refuses eye contact
The word 'corridor'
-rig the alarm-
Faces pixelate
colleagues go flat, play beige
knowledge is contraband
swallow syllables whole
while choking politely
Red red rocks glow like
rules without verbs, as
heat hums my employee ID
there's no way around
Clambering over the rosy blocks
hands full of dinner
feet full of doubt
skin learns heat
numbers peel
thirteen and a half step
falls through the cracks
Applause from nowhere
applause from below
later ≠ later
cutlery rattling its hollow bones
you set the table
upside down
And mispronounced the word 'corridor'
on purpose
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