A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
i'm in my hole in my box in the ground approximately six feet down because i've dug and dug decades long waiting for a long dirt nap but there's frost and cardboard won't suffice i'll be ice before spring thaws i'm in my garage be-dimmed with hammer and nails and do it yourself coffin kit knotted pine in gray heaps hovers over cement dry on two-by-fours and there are instructions this may take awhile but eventually I'll be fine when it's time if we ever know when that is, and if i'll need help lowering down for now my hole is a time share i rent 52 weeks a year hope the earth doesn't swallow up before then they all mock me like Moses the flood already came and went I'm just waiting for the next 1.14.23 137 words of free verse. not long. not long like 30 lines sounds. Dew Drop Edit ▼ from 'living in the margins of minutia', an as-yet, ill-conceived book title of aspiring averageness. I've gone through periods of this before. There are spats of blog entries with endless nattering of thought after thought of what did I mean by that? let the exploration end again this morning at the drug cabinet, topped with the usual dose of caffeine. |