“Tuesday,” my Sunday.
Hate this silly schedule. All I can
Think about.. What I want to get done
2day. But I’m so tired. Up since 6,
With Little curious Kerouac.

Not in mood to write. So why am
I? Wish I could tear this session,
But it’s on my phone’s screen.
Changes needed. List them. Isn’t
That what people do? How many
Would I hit? Dirty kitchen.. Office…
Editing, writing.. The Plath reading. Too
Much. This isn’t a day off.
At all. At all. More coffee.. But I’ll wake
Him. So I imagine it. A book
With details everyone else has already seen,
touched, tasted.