Sunday, May 01, 2016

mmdlxxi

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—

wounded— 
wonder.

Atrophied Paper