Shiny Surfaces

Growth of the night plants, Paul Klee

Wrapped in scabbards of routine, sleepwalking to meetings, facial spasms deputized as smiles, dread-remembering that cyclone of priority-plus emails, multiplying and protruding from my monitor, quadra-populating, pressing skyward, scraping the sun’s corona—but still somehow awaiting me down here. This disease of being busy suffocates me with schedule, binds and mummifies me in mendacity. Daylight dwindling, I log off, knuckling swollen eyelids, avoiding shiny surfaces, stumbling into the dark.