I want to get working,
But Moon seems to find me.
I want to check list offs.
I want to be Zen.

I'd like to temp-rid her,
But phases distract me,
To close and forget her,
To blank, and then bed.


    the watery choke
       that passes for notes


She ties stomach knotlettes.
She ruins my meals.
Lobotomy fantasies cling.

But suffer the giver.
This surfer may learn here.
This Angel Moon soon may just sing.