Words written.  Today.  Time, 9:56pm.  Just finished two minutes ago.  Need a sip of the Syrah on the counter, by coffee machine, dried knives, pots, glasses.  Rest of night, relaxing, or trying.  You know what, why can’t I do that now?  Why do I have to keep writing?  Where are these words going?  A blog.  So, I’m done.  Clocking out.  I’m the boss, and that’s what I’ve decided.  Done.


Glass, pulp.  Pulsate.


Heat, none.  Bring


Movies, play.

Do nothing.

For once.

For tonight.

I’m tired.

So I’ll just sit, sip.

No scribble.

Not now.

A night, together


better lies.