forever waiting until i can open the envelope in front of me and find out where i wound up. i feel winded, twisted in a way that if it happens again i'll crack end up on the sidewalk trashed and swept into the street by everything happening always and i'm tired no part of me is lost but i think it would be easier that way, pretending that i have any sort of reason to continue trudging on in whatever muck i stick myself in to at the bottom of everything, the sewage drains and it smells like burnt out candles in a drawer in the river wet.