Chris Hilliard

Still Life

Life is still like this, I gather.
A million paper tomorrows
embroidered with companies'

names constitute part
of the way out of this.
In sum: 9-4, Mon-Fri,

working for the calendar firm;
5-9, Mon-Fri, on the phones,
the city surveyed into

blocks, 4783 001, 002,
003 et seq; 11 or
12, 20.12.93,

crying, slow down. Michael
has his foot on the floor. The engine
riots. This fast and this drunk,

the lights of other
cars are just lines, halogen
streams in your mind.

© Chris Hilliard 1996