I hurt, ache todayand shower was diffuse;unable to define my substance.
Wade into warmth — the waters of pretense,until immersed, until the water enters you.
My head aches with the sunrise -data streaming into tired eyes;
The clock says 2 a.m. and the horizon is bereftof its gleaming radiance, its pearly lassitude.The moon is conspicuously absent…
My tiredness pins me ungently,complicit with gravity
Amidst rural roads with winding persuasionsand gravel runoffs, the ocean breath stirredin sonic translucence — calling a place she once knew.
So, home has moved on from Kansas,though the world is still Technicolor, and the moon remains my companion — the serene…
Lying in a motel room,spinning, like the fan.