Bored shitless,
pottering about the shack,
chain-smoking,
nothing compelling to read,
out of beer,
too early
to get high,
no one to talk with,
same birds and trees,
even the creek
sounds repetitive.
Oh, these mad,
unsettled days:
how they do wear.
Sometimes the desire
just to drive
until I am out
of gas and money
becomes a mania.
Contentment,
what did you say
your address was?
I'd like to visit
for a while.
- mce
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