too cold to sit outside
and write flowers of
individual poems
it’s alright …
I don’t know what I’m talking about trying
to get into poem-mode thinking
to suck a bit of immanent
but unseen pastel line
out of the quotidian
as if the quotidian
existed there of
its own accord
no wonder nothing happens
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
being & poetry & writing wormhole: moon
thinking wormhole: letter 080514
