It was 1962, Wichita, Kansas. My Dad surveyed the front yard—a very big front yard, a grim look on his face. "Weeds," he pronounced sullenly, as if our front yard had become the equivalent of a ... [+]
I muse my bed
deep think to the ceiling
I hungry the biscuit tin
lazy the sofa
watch an old war film—in each shot a horse dies
I worry a text
riot emojis
laugh and cry and laugh and cry
until I'm all wrung out
sometimes I feel a compulsion to fall in love
ponder the beauty of jointly planning a life
sometimes I feel a burning need to tear open
the car door at high speed
just to see what happens
deep think to the ceiling
I hungry the biscuit tin
lazy the sofa
watch an old war film—in each shot a horse dies
I worry a text
riot emojis
laugh and cry and laugh and cry
until I'm all wrung out
sometimes I feel a compulsion to fall in love
ponder the beauty of jointly planning a life
sometimes I feel a burning need to tear open
the car door at high speed
just to see what happens
