Day to Day Poetry, poetry

Day to Day Poetry#33

Her fingers can type 120 words per minute,
from cataclysmic to chaotic to climactic–
she can process words in her mind like shape-shifting entities,
each adjective and euphemism creating their own existence,
playing out a plot in the crevices of her mind in which she’s the star–
and though fully aware this kind of escapism is futile,
she will ride the subway from kennedy to kipling anyway,
on her most manic of days, buried in white headphones and scarves,
because it’s better than staying at home.




One thought on “Day to Day Poetry#33

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