I’m not even sure sometimes why I open the notebook in the cicada-littered summer dumpster-diving raccoons running out
of hyphens at least the morning cool decent coffee the old stump finally yanked out but this bad egg I have to swallow this ache I can’t attach a story to and where do you break
off but that’s the default I suppose if we know the well is running dry we feel guilty about every sip but forget about the rain
and sure it’s my own dumb fault drowning on land unsure how to shout for help so
what I want to say is that I’m glad you stayed on the track I couldn’t find and maybe someday you may think of me and laugh but in a good way
other animals 