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tired in that way

I beat myself up over.


comparing use of time

in the way

super deep books state

one shouldn’t.


struggling not to insert

wanting to get this over with.


I’ve already run the course of that path.

fortunate me

has folks taking from time not guaranteed

to read what I share.


everything is honest and real, true and such.

written knowing

I may still be playing illusions

as substance.


so the body aches

in ways a mind could spend weeks figuring out



the couch be calling me, yo.

voicemail not listened to.


lazy luxury of purchased meal

a sign

in my debted state.


might as well note

the sun’s change of position.


false dilemma of indecisive.

pretending I can psychic my way

towards perfect next move.


waiting in the confines

for neuron spark

that will justify

sitting an eternity

(in my melodrama)

with this

mug of coffee.


the sun begins to cast longer shadows.


I can feel the conflict in the words.

all the teachings didn’t prepare me

for the challenges

of this patience.


in another life, maybe it was during the 90s,

I asked

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