Human impatience is notebooked
in between love and rationale.
My seat in a place I’ve never seen
keeps getting cold and colder.
Lack of concentration is heavy on
irrelevant roasters
cheesily piped in overhead. I
believe I want a doctor for a
merry little Christmas. A
nouveau cafe in creative writing.
It is draining to catapult from
one green tea to another. A metaphor
I can’t live with.
To be a writer/performer on holiday,
the two performances of which
were very good. I had a nice weekend.
My head is fuzzy. And now I’m
the face of dilemma: could I set a
precedent by only writing on
one side of the page?
See, I did it. Branches out!
More fires on the empty bench.
Cloaked in ambiguity. Just like
you always wanted but were afraid to ask.
