I find myself riding a strange wave
of unfinished business. Nothing
I start will come to completion
though I beckon it from the shores
of my motivation. Food I now eat
without the luxury of flavor.
Something is simply missing,
and so missing something simply
my credit only grows, monstrously.
He speaks from under the couch
next to my bedless head,
says hey, you got an ok thing
going on here. keep at it.
But the thing is I don't listen
to monsters even if they do
sound sweet justifying
their pedagogical arguments.
Would rather just stay on floor
(because I can't stay in bed)
contemplating whether Che
was really more like me
or you.
