It half happened, if that’s possible, in a muscle car. None of it seems remotely appealing to me now. Then I got serious and it fully happened in a Motel 6. I had to be home by 11 which might as well have been 5 pm. We could have used that room to party all night.
It half happened, if that’s possible, in my bed one morning. I woke up to a carefully crafted text which sunk into my bones. Then I got serious and put an end to the ambiguity and the vagaries of post modern correspondence. Night boredom is a bitch. I started watching Netflix.
It half happened, if that’s possible, 10 years in. Maybe I married the right guy after all. It still seems an improbable stroke of good luck. Then I got serious and realized that this shit’s hard. I can’t be fixed all in one day.
The nights are still too large sometimes. I expect more of the stars than is rightfully mine. But, at least now I know what being tired feels like.
Exhibition 1874 