All of today a 404 error page.
Everyone is yawning.
Mosquitoes love my ankles.
But nothing hurts.
Worse than time.
I am annoyed for reasons silly.
Probably post office and personal procrastination.
Pots & pans & polaroids.
2050 is less than 30 years away.
and I have no explanations.
I will build a mailbox.
Propel poems that produce plants.
Along streets of a city I steal.
The sun’s heat is getting to me.
Even Culver’s cold custard can’t cure.
Too few, too tired.
I don’t play to win.
I play to live.
The bent alligator flag.
I see it as sweat, scarcely.
With a paintbrush behind my ear.
What remains is what rebuilds.
The end is the beginning.