this is nothing like the terror in which i
conducted my old life, and yet i am still
half jumpy like the pulse of electric
through the wire, over things i cannot
tie together or control. do you ever
get tired of trying to manage the ri
vers o you soul and dam them up
before they spill over? over this
hill is the next day and i am
still trying to manage the week.
one voice gently says, if any
voice is saying anything:
peace