The company you keep

8:57am

was a time i talked myself in to wanting that life: all cozy insulated enseonced in side the academy may be or as some editor of some quiet lit journal or maybe even as a quiet office drone like Kafka or Stevens but then no no though that blue collar it doesn’t fit either just strangles same as same gone as gone like the melting polar mountains sweet dreams these from an aging fuzzy fat poet in the basement banging lines out on a typewriter I will use up the way Buk wrote about women all except the woman his very own Irene Adler, here in the basement eraving hating the sun and cool air and when i do finally lumber out and the road rises under my fascitised feet there will still be some who wonder how it is i make my way through the world