so darkly lay these times written that
i must spring mid-read sentence howling
for paper and pen. they run
as slow as droplets on the
flat earth and, if need be, i
could sell them ten or 25 cents per
enough to eat, to buy another pen
when my ink runs dry as my tongue
out these soft white walls lay
the big pressure of after
and here i am pursuing ten or 25,
or rather thoughts thereof
9.17.07
Tuesday, September 25
