it’s starting again.

no sleep. no appetite. no energy. the work ahead of me seems insurmountable.

and all at once that familiar voice…the one that assures me i deserve this…

goddammit. i will not let this happen.

Western

the poem
tugs the brim of his hat down,
spits into the dirt,
starts down toward where i’m standing.

as always he’s alone, anonymous,
unshaven, dust-riddled,
equal parts death and tenderness,
never sure himself about which comes next.

outlaws taught me
everything i know, but i pin the star
onto my vest and step into the street.

i feel my arm tighten.

Was me and 5 other hardy souls…but we had a good time.

Theme for next meeting, Jan. 25th: Possession.

Will post rest of the themes tomorrow — I feel like crap again and don’t feel like digging out the sheet. But we’re good through May, and I like this round of themes a lot.

ALSO: There is a large warm cat on this bed. He is dreaming, twitching, and making slurping noises. I shall slay him shortly. Anybody want the meat?