and I stir in composed craziness
she tells me to journal everything
but I’m just at home — plain stage, the
expected.. Jazz helping.. Relax, stir
further, missing falling sheets, straying
fronts from Pacific. Irregular delivery,
Doing this for process not end-product.
Addiction, notes roughage. Waiting,
disfavor, prolonging– a prison. And
not the invited kind.
Hunting for transparency in any degree.
Investigate my own apparition.
Water on tilted tables. Another voice.
Emptying voids. I’m woundedly annoyed.