Wednesday, July 23, 2014

CONVOLUTION

Today I think 
I feel—still more 
tired 

than even these endless 
slow tendrils 

of fat and off-
white logy 
milk look—stretched-

out and yawning—
deep 
through glass

after—endlessly
repeating 
translucent
glass

of foggy cold
ineffectually lovely
iced coffee—

that I've
all the while—only 

been dreaming 
of ordering.

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HOW DO YOU FEEL?