Empty time lent shape by the weekly rites
Of chiselling the stubble away.
I concentrate with a tilted head
Buried in books.
I don’t realise for days,
My sideburns on each cheek hang uneven
But does it matter if nobody even sees them?
Empty time lent shape by the weekly rites
Of chiselling the stubble away.
I concentrate with a tilted head
Buried in books.
I don’t realise for days,
My sideburns on each cheek hang uneven
But does it matter if nobody even sees them?
