AngstxietyI am work weak on Wednesdayin a heap of hangover and hesitationwith fingers on a phone hapticallyactively anticipating feedback—I need that why do I need that.My angst and anxietyis constant and coursesand throbs with a pulsethat demands concernof a baby boomer crooning poeticin the distance to call me antisocial, or you know,you could just call me.If being this busy in an ageof constant communicationfeels like having sleptbut not feeling rested,I'd rather cancel my planslike a responsible millennialand go to bed.
Loyalty by FireI solemnly let slack offthe steering wheeland the vehicle pulls itself outof the curve before the spiral.I slalom and wallow,check my blind spots,tunnel my vision into velocityand swerve into the other lanewith no other vehicles aroundto feel the illusion of riskwhen there is none.There was no warning,no obituary, no texts back,just the hitchof my breathat the news of his death.Suddenly,I want him more nowthan I needed himso I send him messageswhen nobody is aroundto feel the illusion of himwhen there is no one.
Nibiru, Where Are You? only game nightis rescheduled more often — rapture redux
The Wavering Gate silver key in handi stand, at the wavering gate — this world but a dream
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