this morning he le...

this morning he left the building where people toil and sweat over a variety of social rulers. there are mirrors everywhere, and desks with grid coordinates to record letters using a no.2 pencil. the building is multi-storied and windowless. when people mention scent he suffocates at the thought of the recycled air there. thousands of tulip bulbs are donated every year by the dutch government to commemorate the allied troops that liberated them during the war. most are planted around the government buildings and at the national park across the river. on campus, he can see them sprout for spring, and he cannot recall where the snow has gone. tomorrow morning i'll write another exam in a room where i took a classics course. during which i'll hope for a pleasant afternoon of writing postcards. i'll seek refuge under a statue erected in 1903 or a willow tree near the egyptian embassy. little messages that tell half stories and half nightmares with generic stamps. the tulips will be at my feet wherever i go tomorrow. and winter will be frozen in my pen.