The kitchen to get another glass of that Zin– But bed beckons, open.
Talk much, nothing do. And now look, results pounced in. Much now to say, face–
Images distanced become near, proximal, key push, steps quiet, hold–
In a feverish way. Dream of Spain’s sand. Unplanned obsession to place.
Lay down but I want to just get back up– so much I could do. Stop! Sleep.
Left to Yawn Telling myself to keep working, then the other side is irate. Stuck.
So I… I … I what. I want. I want what. I don’t know. Why ask this me?
Music while waiting for coffee I bring it in and drown it out, sunday
I guess my career goal is freedom from having to have a career.
crutch none, just walking slowly this morning. why rush, there’s too many stoplights anyway—