There’s an internal
Monolog
Somewhere in the American West
That could go on
Forever
If they could
Have the peace
And the solitude
In spirit.
There’s an internal
Monolog
Somewhere in the American West
That could go on
Forever
If they could
Have the peace
And the solitude
In spirit.
I miss my Abbott,
In a body used to lingering kindly,
You would have to ask me, for my sense
Who are they to know me?
Late at night, late last year, and it was in early fall.
I stood living true to being mezmorized,
I explain, half-hazardly, my mathematics in Carver hall,
Did no one there care to ask me much other than a simple how? to gather why.
I want my chaotic trend to restabilize.
More coffee today?
Less leisure in the way?
More coffee over time?
I’m the ghost in the shell is why.
Watch for changes
I’ve seen a change; And,
I’ve moved on again
Was it too late to correct?