my world needs Dr. House;
maybe he can excise my life;

at least into manageble parts.

first sew-up my hours in the day,
they seem to fray after two hours:
a requirement of Retirement.

Poetry has become accoutrement
rather the MAIN SHOW therefore
it is spartan, effete slow-to-emerge.

legions of letters are in my craw;
appearing in the eyelids of a sleeping
tomorrow; one that will arrive

about two hours from now.

01/21/2011

Posted on 01/21/2011
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