1000 words. A marker magic.
Need sip, after day. Needed.
Only thing I see Self doing: WRITING.
Addiction, gorgeous.. Continuous birth,
more children than I can inventory.
Normality, recapped. In another
Morning mocha. Have to finish
Songs. It torments me, this project.
Glissading to states, poetically
Provincial. Finish pieces I
Abandoned. Metered ghost
Colonies. Like flour spilled on
Kitchen counter, always found,
In one corner, or other.
Chopped, strained. Structure
Rearranged. Kant’s having me
Over for tea. But I told him I
Prefer coffee. Is that rude? Paper
Notes to side other. Can’t find.