the poem
Had my breakfast
had my bath
read a dozen pages of the subterraneans
thought about substituting “ and” for all my commas in my prose and decided changing my prose wasn’t worth it
still listening to Bob Dylan
a day for myself
I can take a nap and decide after
Pending how I feel then
Like I did last night deciding if I was going to the Hanukkah party at Ana’s
Five windows open on
My computer on
The world
Outside the tips on my fingers
My errors filled with the organ
Of the voice’s music
Turn it off turn it off
And dwell within for
However long the long time alone is
There’s that broken left-over narrative
Stretching out into the white day
Lying on its side
Watching the watcher
Melt into
Reflection
Where does ‘it’ start
Where does ‘it’ end
Before it turns on itself
Turns into itself
To talk itself
Out
Of existence?
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