There are mornings
when the very first thing
is the need
to have an idea.
And then,
there are evenings
where the last idea standing
is the desperate
need to fall
asleep.
*
I think I need
to clear my head.
I'm think I'm becoming
too interested
in the way
being interested
generates fumes
we call "finitude,"
which must then be
exhausted.
*
each day
feels so far away
from the last
when really there's
just that thin stream
of tedious recap
dreams in-between?
