Draft 2 - Going Ghost

[Bunx]

Awake. Engines whir outside.
Red lights strobe into the room.
The dark is heavy with the bulk of night. Could use "darkness here" it could illude to morality.

Almost a year spent reciting a script
to strangers, sitting in the same space
where I sleep, staring out the window
at a hollow building
across an empty parking lot. Crows outside
communicate discovered repasts
with fellows of their murder.
I do not notice my own building
has been empty too,
until another living person
imparts the sacred knowledge. By then
the world will have always been imparting 

when the body remembers how to see. This statement is heavy and mysterious. I feel pretty drawn to its nature. 
Right now it is already dark. I observe
the bed cannot be made. This hour
so much of the world
becomes shadows and reflections:
lights left on by construction,
neighboring windows of empty rooms.
On the balcony I sip cool coffee and smoke.
Everything is shadowed by a genocide.
Is there time to do the laundry.
Can I water the rotting bonsai.
Can dust collect another day.

Thank you for sharing this poem. I wish I could offer more constructive feedback. The themes are heavy and important. I feel like you illustrate the reality of life during genocide vividly. The poem has a consistent tone and style. I could see it being read a few ways but in my opinion it benefits from the descriptive language and present tense. 

Thanks again