Sunday, May 01, 2016


Atrophied Paperwork

I’m feeling kind of wasted
life.  Somebody figure out

how to bomb shelters yet?
My hiding places.  But I have

no cents for doing anything,
like last night, drinking it’s

the end of the world, and
it probably was.  For eleven

years, a clicking noise,
many mornings, out my

(hauteur) bedroom win-
dow, just on the other

side of the screen.  I
have yet to determine

or decide upon the sores
of it / the sort of it / the

sour-source of it, this
intermittent clicking

outside our bedroom
window.  Have I ever

even attempted to
do so?  I—