Same, tomorrow?

Like birds, my hands flew from 7th story 
Windows welcoming ills of city air.
Watching the pavement blend with the faces of pedestrians.
Again, tomorrow I’ll open windows 
To stumble through a different scent,same scenery. 
Phone rings. Mother’s voice slides 
The conscience from its compartment.
Hands return blistered with blood same color as my skin.

A list

Out windows I remember
joy stirred, sights from suns
my stars rested at night
Far from their here.

days pivot on eggshells

justify my backslides 
with learning curves

and hidden words form 

lumps in throat.
Tomorrow may be over the sun

tomorrow has no new debt to pay,

uncertainties rest easy this morning.