that evening
the plastic sun looms ’bove
flashing dusty yellow interrogation
a long day’s workhaze
& sleep is but a dream
& the grease smiles back @ me
& the cream melts in the black coffee
but the coffee grows cold
the distance
& my albumen burns cold
& my eyes melt runny yolkpus
covered in itchy buttercrumbs
papers that smell o’ rust
& on the jam packet
the expiration date doth forebode:
october 2025
& dreams are but asleep
