i suppose that’s what happens when we are so self absorbed with our own stuff.

but today it’s truly tiring.

fuck it.

i’ve never been able to see the point of emptying one’s mind of thought.  my  thoughts are all i have.  i love my thoughts, even when they take me up and down some sour smelling byways where i’d rather not venture.  whatever flickers on in my head is mine and i want it, all the blinking impulses and inclinations and connections and weirdness, and especially those bright purple flares that come streaming out of nowhere, announcing that i am at some mystic turning point and that i’d better pay attention.

a morning and an afternoon and 

night’s queer knuckled hand 

hold me separate and whole 

stitching tight my daily soul