Turn, calendar, turn. What month is it, anyway? Loved and lost. Alive,…
Turn, calendar, turn. What month is it, anyway? Loved and lost. Alive, but grown fat. Got a haircut, but it's grown again. Sit second row in history, last in geography. Wiped some of my slate clean, filled a lot of it back up again. Grown restless with the agitations of spring: rain, sun, rain, snow, sun, rain. Instant communication became passe. Work a shitty night job. Wondering where I can barter blood for time to concentrate on the things and people that matter. Wondering how I can barter that time so that I might find some for myself. Tired of so many people around. Since when did space become such a valuable commodity? I need a ten by ten space with only a couch, a desk and an ashtray…maybe a balcony on the 25th floor. A balcony would be nice. A nap, a smoke, a poem, a breath, a smile, a free fall. Here's number three, but I only have a cold basement.