brain stuffed with dumb silenceI wish
was teeming
with
sentence science
and the scheming warm fart of Werds.
my Dutch Oven of art;
empty.
attempts;
stale loaves lumpen
onignored pm market shelves.
the single alcohol tin I allow myself 10pm
is
Soft Sentient Lightning
flooding
cold insides
with chaotic jabbing sparks of orphan prose.
hands so tired now I try now
to record
the glow of late dough
bursting in the dark of bedroom-
nightstand notepad unreadable scribble in the sudden am.
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