Oh, she wants me to
love her the way she would love
her, if she were me.

I can hear music.
It is only in my head,
but so beautiful.

Sometimes I wonder
just why I keep coming back;
salt on my fingers.

Exhausted. Sleepy.
Burned out, droopy, overtaxed.
I'm going to sleep.

I want a web cam
on Birnam Wood, just to make
sure nothing is up.

Inspiration has
a conscience today; threatens,
but will not strike me.

Fever dreams in a
Sherman hotel room but I
Wake up today fine.

for yesterday:
A week more and I
would have admitted you, the
doctor said to me.

and today:
He wants to share my
sandwich, cheerios, eggs, soup.
A people-food fiend.

I'm not that good at
committing, or follow through,
or remembering...

On account of my
Grama and the morbid death.
Do I need a note?