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epistle log 40rty 4our
clearing the cache
sky summer white to autumn grey
days elongated, nights longer
i've got the will to drive myself sleepless, but sleep comes
unbeckoned
words stemmed so long the inertia hard to turn
scant drops on growing pages
seconds become days became years
retreat to my third floor tower
creaking chair revisions no one sees
midnight changes go unnoticed
rearranging the formless
relinquished to the aperion
lethe washes the stars away
dust left compressed
a minor nova: cold, dark
i think in phrases
i speak even less
10|**|00