Undone, Thursday Poem

There are dead song birds across from the apartment where Jon used to live.

Crashing into glass. Do they see themselves upon impact?

My shirt is mostly unbuttoned. At sunset I’m undone.

Pretty people work in the 30’s, could be 30’s themselves, hard to tell.
36th on 8th Ave, middle aged actors could actually be marketing people,

but they shout about a return to rehersal.

It’s all just a role

in screenplay format. Heading: Sunrise. Then action, character, dialogue, then on.

The setting is ambiguous, but urban. I am undone in between the sun.

I talk to Jon. He is in love again. Did he love the guy he lived with on 35th almost at the west side highway, the corner designed for quick escapes.
Now he’s gone. Only the glow remains. Cut. Holding for more glow.

This amount of inactivity is grotesque
I am undone.