Tired. But can’t stop thinking
About the Merlot tomorrow
Morning. Where will this first press
Take me? Narrowing dreams, for time’s
Sake. It’s winning, that poisoning
Clock. But now, driving in 1 lane.
Notebooks full, more than jungles.
But how melodic does it have 2 be–
Sand under this page, battling waves;
Falling over, confusion’s cross. Ask
Prufrock, but he’s blind. Nightly,
I’m a pilot over lonely ice. Selfish
artist with a materialist twist. Don’t
Miss other boxes. Don’t need this 1.