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?
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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?