come hang out.
I'm hungover.
I wasn't in this kitchen in 2001.
I know I talk to much.
light me up another
and read my own poetry
out loud
to me.
it's a fire.
it's about you.
an hour in this life
with coffee
and I am going to be good at this.
I felt fall coming since last spring.
I am a lost creek
that leads somewhere.
wandering and wondering
why sometimes Sundays
decide to sleep.
not gonna die with that ego.
never bored.
worth everything.
worth resurfacing.