i spent late until last night planning and
planning and building plans to spill into
plans and the nweave into plans, fine plans,
fine bricks laid from my very insides,
like any grey old spider, and then at
the end i lit a fire, small, on one stick
of incesne, and with that and a lit candle
cralwed into bed, and the magic of
bedtime makes me sleep and the sleep
wipes aways everything and washes it
anew into common sense, and on the
shores of such a palce i see what is
necessary and what is not, and what i
need is you ,and what i need is to
remember and what i need is to stop
fretting and remember it is too
cold to go to chicago, and i know
that i still have to pay my phone
bill and one by one these things
are liek rosary beads, but now,
if only one by one, ticked off
of my thubm they could fall
into the sea and the nbecome
water to become
salt