an hour and change left to whittle.

a shift at work awaits at five in a mildly off-putting conclusion to a weekend of misses both near and not even close. i think it may prove easier to switch gears right after mass has been sung and churn out eight or nine hours than it is to do the same with five from a weary standstill.


Let me begin again as a speck
of dust caught in the night winds
sweeping out to sea. Let me being
this time knowing the world is
salt water and dark clouds, the world
is grinding and sighing all night, and dawn
comes slowly, and changes nothing.

-Philip Levine, excerpt from the poem, “Let me begin again”


the blur of a too-soon morning somewhere behind the eyes, smudging under half-attempts to shake clarity free. the sun a magnifying glass paraded; a cruel grin, gorging upon undiscerned implication.