Draft of, It’s Later than Early, from a future project tentatively titled, “Dampness”

It’s Later than Early By Jasen Sousa

It’s Later than Early

 

The thought was trapped

inside a Boston tunnel

stuck behind guilt and red break lights,

surrounded by yellow

hues which couldn't even inspire

small insects to walk freely

on unbalanced land

that was fraudulently built.

 

It was still like a puddle

resting on a dawn city street,

like a half-smoked

cigarette that leaked smoke

long after a flick

from his calloused fingers.

 

His paycheck ended up

inside the palms of charismatic

bartenders and agile women

who shook as much as the dreams

he could no longer conjure up.

 

When the future is nothing

but a weekend, and reality is nothing

but the time you get home from work.

 

Inside an empty apartment,

inside an empty fridge

where eyelids are unbalanced

and dusty as the blinds

that kept him hidden

more than the stained uniform

that bared cursive letters

arranged in way that no longer spelled his name.

 

It was quiet like the vision

that never propelled him to move forward,

like the vocal cords

which never allowed him

to formulate great words into meaningful sentences

 

It's later than early

and his hands remained inside

his empty front pockets, warm, comfortable,

numb,

afraid to touch objects

coated with layers of freedom.