Here and Now
like a scratched record trying to play a song.
the fuzzy, garish pattern of my winter throw;
ink hitting the page as my hand elegantly
swishes pen across paper; posters of
happiness and spirituality hung haphazardly
and the slapdash reflection of my bedroom
the silent hum of a distant streetlight
fused with general electronics and the buzz
of living; quietly loud when you tune in.
my feet crossed and warm under cozy duvets;
the soft mattress beneath my bum, one hand
grasping my phone as my other clasps the pen;
jaw clenched tight like a regimented coil.
the general must of a well lived room and
the remnants of a currant bun eaten in haste,
a twang of orange juice lingering like time and
a bitterness creeping at the back of my throat.