Sometimes I listen to contemporary music and thunderstorms. Slept the weekend through, sore and muddled attempt at work in the morning, a summer flu, returned home fever napping, waking up gasping for air and water mid afternoon. Now waltzes from the speakers and rolls in the distance, blinds rattling in the wind and my bones creaking.
Until further notice, a lack of poetry reflects a total immersion in Frank O'Hara still "the air the stumbling quiet of breathing/newly heavens' stars all out we are all for the captured time of our being" Despite three days sleep I can barely hold up my head my hands, maybe I will sleep on the couch out of these sickbed heat sheets?
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