awoke with an inability to move my neck and a completely engorged member. This made it difficult to remove myself from the comfort of a king, stationary under a threadbare blanket.
I’ve three letters to write and have been ignoring my friends somewhat. Not intentional but a movement in a symphonic life teeming with incredulous memory.
coffee is unprepared but waiting.
I am growing more concerned about the influence of people who view me as an enemy. Don’t they know I love them, don’t they know I sit concerned at midnight about their health.
unfinished
one hand moves swiftly against the other,
(a final act of
expression.
a final act of
rebellion.)
wisping eagerly
against the fiddling wind
life dropping,
weighted,
still
on tiled, unclean
bathroom floors.
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 