Easy to imagine. How do you sculpt?
These journals, the only members of my cult.
Shouldn’t see it that way, but that’s my day–
Written. Or typed. Whatever I in the moment
Like. Frightened by instant quiet.
Where went ruckus? Or even bee buzzes?
She’s upstairs, on my desk. Can’t study, now–
But I will later, I promise. Lecture ideas,
Flooding concentrations banks, beaches,
Burrows. With brow furrowed, walk to get
Another cup. Only 9:28. Day long for me
To wave songs. 1 destination for
These verse. I hope. That would take
Concentration, “professionalism.” Not
Master of either. She’ll help, helping me
Fight my own panzers.