Sunday Morning Thoughts: 1.21.18

A day late. And I still hesitate. Though this time, only for the coffee to finish her brew. As it goes, for that specific kind of junkie.

I can hear it. Through the open door, to the other room. I hope it finishes soon. Though that would mean I would have to get to what I mean to do.

And though fear may not be the right word, it is the one we will use. Place all the ideas of anxiety, apprehension and worry under the shade of that term. It will work just fine.

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Sunday Morning Thoughts: 1.14.18

Perhaps it is as easy as clicking the wrong button.

It is nice to think that the tiny, infuriating paperclip being would arrive and inquire whether one was sure of their decision. But being nice does not always make it so. And as a result of yesterday’s folly, folks had to huddle together in their bathrooms, basements and where ever else they could find in that island paradise with the hope that would keep them and those they love safe from the ‘I don’t know what’ that they were told was on its way.

We’d like to think our lives, nations and world used to be stable. It used to be better. And maybe such once was the way.

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Sunday Morning Thoughts: 1.7.18

So. I got another stamp in the ol’ passport. And a few more pages gone from blank to scribbles in the pocket notebook I had, with cheesy poetics, dedicated to only being used for travel. A good few leaves filled out, as went with this summer. Though different. Each time, each way, each day- all different. Some passages to be shared. Most, not.

Dear diary, as some friends of mine would like to jest. And perhaps, it is.

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leaving new york

if’n it were dim,
would be romantic
these lights,
no good
for the anxious-
so, he sips
the glass,
as done thousands
waiting to leave
to be

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