the warehouse
is a misery
of stagnant heat
the heavy fumes
of acetone and
dreary faces
already done with
the nascent week

i feel myself
melting with each
step as the fog
of chemicals
flushes my brain
the pieces lost
extraneous in the
dismal dungeon as
escape becomes
the only desire

no matter how
fast you run
hell is always nip
nip nipping at
your bleeding heels
the scent of all
consuming frustration
causes the demon’s
nostrils to flare

i sit and talk to
the birds fluttering
past a half dehydrated
fool spitting dust
a tumbleweed without
the good sense to
simply blow out of
this dead end town