older now. gray is peaked dream in
a vanity mirror fare. a tweezer peck
fit in once reddish brown beard; of
and preservation. I am just

simple farmhand in dust
bowl. single egg resting

in rusty wire. yolk hollow in
tap. somehow

six foot hatched and resting
in tan leather chair; the one
that fits neatly under hairpin
desk, under typewriter covered in

skin cells circulated
off of shiftless


the mint green olivetti to your
right on
the desk is collecting dust. you
made it a bastard- decided to
go with a sharp lcd screen and
spell check. you bastard. the
ribbon has probably dried
out and it is choking like a
refugee in some desert. you
look over, some blank eight
and a half by elevens stacked on
top of the carriage, wrinkled
from blowing away by the ceiling
fan but you stack them drunk
on top of your former lover. you