Eleanor is asking for cake
and the TV's up too loud
and I'm in bed with poetry
a little light headed.
There's a mosquito
buzzing about
and I'm worried about my bare feet
(it's warm enough for that now)
getting bitten in the night.
The words,
spoken outside my window
here,
on the page,
sometimes make sense
sometimes they're just
letters
ordered and reordered
recorded.
Listen.
Maybe you'll
understand
some of them.
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