Dinner invitations. Regular society knocks on my door and I go into the fresh air, enjoy it even. But I miss that dark, messy corner where my word processor lies, I miss the world that swims around within it. It is all rain and heavy sighs, but it sooths my angst, did you notice? I thought today If I could do this, and nothing but this, all my life, I would, and didn't realize until later that some people do. That it was what I thought I would do. That I could be dirty, ragged, Bukowski all my life and no one could berate me because it was the Way. Across the ocean, slippery ballots determine the Brave New World, and I go to sleep with a knot in my stomach at the possibilities. I hear your voice in my ear and I think your skin would be soft against mine but it's too late now. And I'm tired. Tomorrow, tomorrow we will have answers in our headlines.
And Bukowski and I will drink a beer. Hide another day from the light.
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