away from it all:

I just want to sit
with my ears plugged with beeswax
in the middle of a wood
away from the noise

I'd watch the sun arc
watch my little girl frolic
we'd fart around
writing wordless poety
and silent songs

but I live under tubular lights
surrounded by iron-blue wood
bottomless cup of coffee
scrawled notes on scrap paper
working through stranger histories
making up fairy tales

my minutes mapped out
all my sitting and standing
all my driving and sleeping
dinners planned
between 5:04 and 5:12

this pace is exhausting
days blending and blurring
my candle's third end
is near burnout too


(no rest for the wicked witch of the west)