I draft spreadsheets, each
detail a talismanic
ward of protection.
Travel itinerary
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I draft spreadsheets, each
detail a talismanic
ward of protection.
She shares her story
of youthful risks. Wants my thoughts.
Jesus, you’re still nuts.
Fork scrapes styrofoam,
a sound that grates my nerves. I’d
rather cook myself.
Ate bad stuff. Gained weight.
Hate myself. Still, I think, There’s
always tomorrow…
I quit my job to
work on my haiku blog. Chance
of millions, slim / none.
One bite then the mad-
ness begins. Binge-stuffing my
face. Swallowing whole.
Olive pits. Glass shards.
Bent straw. He warns, It’s not a
garbage disposal…
Why bother vowing
change when you’re satisfied with
your lazy-ass self?
Spiraling flakes, like
small hands opening wide, feel
their way down to earth.
You still up? Dude, it’s
not like the internet won’t
be there tomorrow.