A Midday Story by Peter Boltuc

A white slate is what your day starts with. By midday it is Bruised with your feet Carved with the paths of your thoughts.

By midday the game is basically defined After that you just play along the lines on your hands along the sculpture of your brain

You have nothing to say to those close friends Whom you find unexpectedly in the party crowd They tend to disappear having crossed The sheets of your bedroom

The crowd is divided along the party lines So is the hiring policy By midday your game is basically defined Though there are still so many mistakes to be made On the crosswalks Where the lines of your brain Meet the lines of your redemption