it’s late and i’m fixed on forming words.
they barely stagger to their senses in wake
of a philosophical essay i’d earlier encountered- almost buckled under-
right in the heat of a comprehensive room.
a stable room that demands second thought- the glossy monitors, colour scheme intact and the myth of sysiphus before me.
my ribs tire and curl- taking notes from scorpio.
still i am that self mettle with enough pomp to claim a conscience yet graze at it all the same.
an *** and his carrot.
dedicated, driven, demanding
if you want.
call me again in a few months.
you wait.