I’m struck by the speed of days
Like from a fountain, and on the other side
A spring. To waste not want not given only one direction
And instructions on the tail end. Regrets held
Chesthigh and fluid. Weaving a river out
And around my living room. And back to my bedroom.
And back to my living room. And back to my bedroom.
And back to my living room. How very bizarre and august.
