it isn’t going to wake you
why wake
you have got to
go work and why
go work anyway
why not empty
my bank account
drive
leave the wet lipped
still queuing at the train station espresso bar
fill the flask
leave
I would be happy
if this were the last ever concourse
croissant I ever ate fuck the
spongy croissants the under buttered and the British Library
biscuit that just takes it
leaving me whimpering to
myself when the revolution
comes like an old man