the copier's pulse is steady
whirrr, ka-chunk. whirrr, ka-chunk.
the sound of plastic colliding,
numbing. i could be
thinking about anything now
but i am
as brainless as my copying assignment
my stare is intent:
flutter through their assembly line.
no, i won't think.
i will not
remind myself of you.
my job's monotony and apply it:
in the morning i count the stones
as i walk, studying texture.
on minutinae, sink into the
relief of routine until i forget
why my brain
is shutting off.