I stopped fugue-ing

I lost my motivation when my lizard died. I stopped fugue-ing at the moon in the midday sun. I grooved in clandestine sweaters while all about me clouds of gnats figured trifecta bets on Morse code calculators. If you’re in the same boat I’m in then we really need to be torpedoed out of the sea. You see?!

I’ve had this problem with brown studies, brain fog, and generalized  ash-gray existential fugs. My dentist, podiatrist, and abortionist recommended I tell you this so that I may burden you in order to unburden myself. Now we’re yoked together in a plasticine hoodoo weathered to a crusty infirmity. These badlands desiccated to the dedication of blue sleep in yellow pajamas. The time for imbibing is now.

What I’m Reading:

Back to sleep 2 nightmares
Solid ones down not to be told
Woke not wanting to be in life
Wasn’t, outside warmed

— Alice Notley / “Four Sonnets”