I haven’t perfected my form by any stretch of the imagination. I’m still here, in my little basement corner, working at the stitching table, trying to get a nice tight shot into success. That’s what they say, right? You’ve gotta fake it till you make it. Treadmill living days on repeat. Don’t give me that same old ruck of the mill nonsense I know you’ve got hiding somewhere there behind those cynical eyes.
I told you that I need attention, but come on now. I’m really only hungry for one type.
Standing here on the Tuscan asking if I Am actually an utterly mindless hack?
Having almost nothing to do with my life,
I’m drinking coffee through a toothpaste mouth.
Opening my closet just enough to get into my bag. The chickens are in the coop. I’ve just got to close the door. Keep the darkness at bay. Carlton can come with me. It’s alright. Everything’s going to be alright. All of your dreams come true. Watch out for golf balls, baseballs, bullets and other sorts of suburban ordnance.
Keep tasting and testing the waters.