Lost writings. I didn’t save. Hate these
Devices. Noir of this. THIS, my terminating
Entry by punch. And I’m supposed 2B
An academic, whatever that means.
I’m still flying, captaining my straights.
But if there’s something else I can do, I
Don’t want2know. I’m set. Almost
Cut Self again by pushing false button–
Not even a real key.. Something virtual
On this devilish screen.. Endearing, my
Flights. Paris,
Again hoping for another mocha by that
One station. Will I be ticketed for dreaming,
Again? I’m hoping so. Why.. Just my
Inner outer-provocateur. Can’t fret over
Lost types. Just packing for lead. My corner, deleted–
Maybe. Quit, colder than Article fish.
Sped away with blinding newness. Modern
in theses posts. Wanting left, as both
Eyes write. Curiously spaced. Bed.

12/3/12