Pissed off and in-
transigent, my shoulders are stiff
as a pair
of antediluvian boulders,
the coffee
in the little blue
cup is scabbing over,
the room has turned a blank
gray, and even
the nonsense words are refusing
to come
together over me.
But the moment I relent
and delete
everything I've written,
the sun swaggers
out, its inarticulate light
pouring down to bury me
alive—in the most
inexplicable
thing of all: a warm
feeling.
