Somewhere

I should be doing other things. Responding to emails. Birds on a wing. Burgeoning. Glorious Purpose. Common threads Bind me like feet. I'm only a sliver Chinese. This is the only time to write. I walk into darkness. I feel meaning. And, in the end, I will Or won't Look back on this one day And not remember The wall, The poems, The table, The papers, The pencils and pens And headphones, The screens, The people In their poses For now They are who they are Now. And I am still plugged in The end.

toe many tittles all the way down vanilla skies and blue cherry wise maybe not so many titles just everybody knows this is nowhere turn out the lights put on the softest of songs and sing like nothing matters and you've done all this before so why not in here somewhere is something nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada haʻina ʻia mai ana ka puana he mele he inoa no Miloliʻi but I'm not going, am I? and somewhere that's clean is a malapropism of sorts of sorts isn't it out of time and mine somewhere that's green bursting white fences sweet faces the mucky muck eternally eighteen looking back at sixteen twenty-four looking back at nineteen whatever work