I am losing. My. Grip.
all I wanted was a gallery
which featured my own work.
Nothing. More. Just a place to
be each day, and work. In. A.
Sort of beatific silence. A tiny,
white storefront, even, would do.
Was that so complicated? Maybe
even a loft, in the back. Where
I. Could. Live.
Now I'm making a 6-wine omelet,
with peppers and potatoes too.
In a bucket. Over an open flame,
outdoors. Maybe it's fancy eating.
I'll have to let you know.
(I am losing my grip.
I don't know where to go).