The cord is caught between my desk and my foot
my thoughts and my tongue
my fingertips and everything else
**** life from willow
and scream at television screens
that project images into vectors
eating steel through cotton table cloths
every Sunday.

Seated, watching the time
restraining thoughts of getting there
when there hasn't yet been defined.
Uselessness and vigor
will pour through my pores
at 1919 ft worth
and settle,
****.
It's never going to settle.