Idle
Waiting for the next call
To get the next job
To earn the next wage
To buy the next life.

Idle
Waiting for the next bus
To get to the next stop
To catch the next plane
To fly to the next dream.

Idle
Waiting for the next look
To get to the next smile
To reach the next talk
To find the next friend.

An hour has passed. I haven't moved at all.

Crawling through the shadows
I see cards and scraps
Of shredded self-actualization
Cluttering the floor
On which I dream and lie
Behind the world changer
Silhouettes.

I ponder
Meticulously craving
Tasty microwavable
Destinies unknown
To flattened crayon
Demands.

I have a child’s curse
From malnourished
Mental momentum missing
Mysteriously magnifying
Romantic apathy scarring
My wallet.

I am a post-graduate.