Vague, this peace is temporary anyway
Search for logical sense,
so much hay for such a small needle
There’s nothing logical here
Tread through straw
find cold ground the sound
of loneliness has filled this home
No fairy dropping in to leave a dollar
and take the pain
Groundhog Day
Drop sustenance into sputtering machines
Triple layers, unable to get warm
Take in sugar and light and nicotine
and, I can never make sense
of this brick pattern
Sit hours with sun and pen
Occasional interruption
Waiting for the night to turn
animal instincts into visual resistance
and drunken written phrases
that are surprisingly good

~kb