One more month. November.
She (patricia) arrives, and I slide.

30 days to make something
of it, to really work out
this time and material,
space not quite ethereal,
but here, now, forever.

I met with Mike (Rhim) today. We
are doing this every Monday
, mundane and free, and
the Astoria was there, she
overheard us talking about
Z.i.n.e.s. and wants to
help us make one. So be it.

7 more hours. And eyes shut.
a rotten self schedule I have
that it doesn't work, i don't
follow it, i'm my distraction
based self as always, and so
on. Drinking coffee and not.

54 more minutes. Rotation.
Time means nothing, I was
free when it didn't have
me as prisoner and frog.
Seasons mean something,
moon and sun possesses
with their significance.
All artifice is only
tool, good or bad. It
is object without life;
only containing the
existence given.

47 more seconds. Remember.
Macro to micro, to undefined
matter, to unknown reality,
to blissful somnolence,
to the raving mad, or
the willful normality, or
the ignorantly banal.

There is no need to mention it,
(making our lips dirty and proud,)
There is only being conscious in it.


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