Friday, January 22, 2016


Here we have it, the endless wrangling : 
I've got to get the car in off the street, the 
yard's a mess and nothing's even started. 
I awoke to the morning light with nothing 
going on, a cold coffee on the counter,
only maybe, nothing new. I made it new
when I turned around another brew. There
are winged motifs and encyclopedaic volumes
to everything I ever do. Yes, I want out, but
in this world I stay, too. Paradoxical improvisation.
That'll have to do. In two months time, there will
be flowers. A sort of dissident nation all blooming
underfoot. Yes, yes, I want to wait around.

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