sitting on this sunshot plane
which
through the misfortune of departure
has become a stale-air tube
stranger-fillled
carrying me back to a life and a home
no longer supporting the weight of either word
I write things. I don’t know what to call them. I’ve never been good at decisions. So, when I write, if I write, anything making it onto paper goes under the heading of the current date and time. Numbered days.
November 30, 2009
nov. 29, 2009 1:43 p.m.
