an improvised poem and a soda pop.
Thinking about pancakes tomorrow,
and putting too much butter because I can.
A Bukowski book pulled from the kitchen,
flipped to a random page that is perfect...
“and when nobody wakes you up in the morning,
and when nobody waits for you at night,
and when you can do whatever you want.
what do you call it, freedom or loneliness?”
How long ago did the song end?
How long ago did the silence begin?