telling summer September 20

Ant crawling up my leg
someone persisting
with her argument.
I keep saying, “let me go, let me go.”

But music has another meaning.
Another meaning, when pockets are empty
and dreams are heavy.
Notebooks hanging out of my bag
desire is breathing life into me.
This burst balloon, this highjacked idea
this life-jacket,
the mark of a coffee-cup
on my rough table.

The monotony of the dust,
which blows in through the window.