poetry journal: palate credit

Hate that the same door watches me
Approach. Every morning. Wallet losing
Weight. Needed AM dance.. It’s
Circulatory. Retracing same story.

And what if today, not a single negative
drip onto this author’s roof.. That’s the
type to which I’m in subscription–
May be out of material– I’ll drive across a Bay bridge, one of them.
Look for fog, dream about my office,
Travels, books. Think there’s a misty web net in the valley, inside 12..
Then someone’s car alarm sings, in that infernal honk pattern. Hate that.
Yes, I’ll use that word. Too annoyed
2 rhyme. Said I wouldn’t let viscus moods into my hue. So what then does
A writer do? Memorial for my fortitude. At work, less than an hour. Need another cup. Or maybe some espresso explosives. Instead of extinguishing fire, I’m looking
to ignite one. Or 3. Need for alarm.
Cleanse whatever charm’s left in plead
Steps. Submit request. Unlist me, west. Choice A or B; a void laid, more please. More clocks, timing my life.