Fifth snow-covered Tuesday in so many weeks

Check the mail for the sixth or seventh time today

Fold this mighty newspaper over and over

Anxiety quelled by underline

Tiny prayers to the coffee cups scattered all across my house My only measure of time

In whose world do these accolades matter?

I guess not mine

My slow world spins the same

Fully consumed with what my grandparents used to do

A contact high

Method acting

Scatted like ashes

Scattered like my old homes

Scattered like stars

After all that what did you expect to see

Yell until you're blind and or all out of money

Twenty-five Strummers and too many Ramones

Like there's no place left to go

I don't know what's worse

No opinion or no thirst

Or how I can't find a better use for my time