I should just be grateful
for the whole thing. I am, too
really. I should say so. I should
tell you. But I won't
risk ruining it. I can't decide what I'm
supposed to do instead, though,
so I'm waiting. Just gazing
hard at quiet light on the floor.
Sunday morning. No music plays,
no Velvet Underground or anything.
Books on the table. But all
are closed up now. My voice is gone
and the coffee's gone too. I regret
that, as usual. But you know
how I always think it'd just be
a waste to make any more.
