August 2011
1 post
5 tags
My Doom Smiles at Me
there’s no other way:
8 or ten poems a night. in the sink behind me are dishes that haven’t been washed in 2 weeks. the sheets need changing and the bed is unmade. half the lights are burned-out here. it gets darker and darker (I have replacement bulbs but can’t get them out of their cardboard wrapper.) Despite my dirty shorts in the bathtub and the rest of my dirty laundry on the bedroom floor,...
