after Six Silent Months
This is to anyone left when this
is over. The courtyard can’t be
seen through the window. The air
is an angsty orange. From quar
antine to agoraphobia to, I’m done.
The ongoing attempt to convince my
self here in my hotbox that is about
the shape and size of a coffin. Ding
dong, I’m done, by way of a dimrage.
Grr!! See? The universal appeal of that
oddly angled leg all propped up by a
chicken bucket. But ding-dang-it I must
finish this here as there are no more
lines for which to bring my point home.
