Looking at calendar too much.
Like I’m learning how to count. All over.
Again, I imagine end, when rest welcomes
Life, actual living, no clock following.
Or computer contact. Don’t want any
of that, there. Like mustard between vineyard
rows, the anxiety scratches between veins.
Photographing stars next to dumptrucks.
They’re everywhere.. and the water,
multicolored like child canvas. What
Drive it away, wish myself to far stay.
Empty swing, little breeze bump–
Walking me, smilingly, from slump.