linger in bed awhile
then lift myself

in the mirror i see
a red assed monkey
i stare at him for a long time

drink a glass of cloudy water
pick a shirt with no horizontal stripes
stick my feet into tight shoes
the prints left behind will be smaller than expected

think of all the meals planned and forever unmade
the bed lying tomcatted open to public view
my walls detaching from the ceiling
in all their blue flocked glory

point theory says
there’s a direct line
between bottles on the table,
blanket on the stool,
albums strewn at the whim of music,
and the way i stand
humming TV jingles in the half lit living room

there’s purity in
a clutter of symbols

still no reliable access at home.

i’m at the Hut posting this.

expect updates to be sporadic until such time that we get it fixed.

grrr.