The Abundance of Scarcity.

Oh, I dont know. Sit down type. get up, make coffee. Smoke. Notice this, make note of that. Watch this. Re-heat that. “all the forms are known”. Kitten in a pot placed to catch the rain from a leaky roof. Now dry enough for fun. Burn eucalyptus. Catch mosquitos with my hand by the light of the screen. Throw them from my fist on the keys. They just fly out of my open hand like im a magician and they’re doves. Everytime. They only die when I applaude. The weather dips. The same noise. Something out in the dark falls. Sometimes on my roof with a crack. Like somebody dropping a pen. I dont know. Scratch my ankles. Mosquitos love my ankles. me a masochist in flip-flops. Some strange herb that makes me want to cry. When I read things I write. Strange. This cell. Strange conversations 3-4 words at a time. Like long distance chess with smiley faces. The silence is not beautiful, its deafening. Sound travels very far in the country. I can hear bits of conversation in wind-sized earfuls. Like a honking car speeding by. Trembling slightly its so cold but refuse to move. Refuse to lose. Hey, this is great. Ive got everything I need. Even a couple of things I dont. The abundance of the lacking. And all the while a clock in my chest, tapping away. A metronome nightmare. Like a drunk on the subway. You know when two subway cars meet in those tunnels, each at a different speed, and those faces meet and only the eyes move and then away into the dark, its like that. So, I grab a flashlight. Give the sheet a big noisy shake to ward off any demons. Lay down, cover my face and wait. Its like that.

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