Day One

This is my fifty-first
day one, "but this time feels
different," I say. I always
say.

Anxious pools pulling, can't
sleep through downpours any-
more, body twists and turns on
a couch barely big enough.

Wake feeling the same, but
knowing this day was chosen, hand-
picked by neurosis to prove that
point yet again that I, as I
appear to you behind bright-
backed screens over leagues and
acres, am an utter disaster.


This, I do not say, but write. I
put it into permanence. It will
outlive, surpass, supplant. I
do this, and smile.