He wore a paper bag over his head indoors
To keep him in and keep out mirrors
The straws that crush the broken back
Intrinsic, extrinsic, insular, extroversion
The daily grind
Even as I'm writing I'm disappearing
It takes me several hours to accept reflections
Give me several years to set a pace
I demand consistent improvement from my television but (because?) I see none in myself
If I didn't sleep I wouldn't reset...but eventually I'd just end.
These days are white-out over red pen, a palimpsest of indecision and deletion
Finding the right word is the worst reward.