Quiet people sit in the hallway
counting the cracks in the tiles.
Outside the birds chew up
praying mantises with the edges
of their beaks.
No one is really trying anymore.
Everyday is just a procession through
the motions. Trains pass by a few minutes
behind, merchandise sits forgotten
on the shelves.
Lightning strikes in impossible
places like the deepest point
in the ocean, killing the oldest
sea monsters that float up to the surface
where the beach birds tear apart
all that remains.
Teleporting Typewriter 