“lot of maps, but no real help“
required verification in tense & time,
contretemps are just industrialized
arguments, a fore-runner to dissolution.
who says you can’t have it all?
the house is quiet, there’s nothing to eat.
i feel weak, like maybe someone
should punch me to make a point.
instead, nothing happens as a few more
minutes dissolve like sugar cubes
in hot coffee while i sweat it out.
all of this; yet still some part of me
needs to eat again. it’s the only way
to keep moving; to keep
breathing. even if i’m as weak
as i worry about being. constance
made a virtue because it’s
nowadays i don’t shave unless my
pillow is sandpaper.
keeping up with a constantly expanding
universe. the implications are stunning;
what else is there?
situated between back-to-back
thoughts about some effervescent
liquid day-dreams; my furrowed brow
does the worrying for me. what was
weak now just reflects sunlight.