Lemur

Because hating

one’s self

for not writing

is beyond a fruitless

act

I will write.

Currently—

listening

to the Flower Duet

from Lamke

and sipping a

mediocre pinot noir

isn’t doing the trick.

I even just sat through

one of the most moving

movies I’ve seen in ages

perfectly packaged—

with heartfelt friendships,

a quadriplegic,

and subtitles

because it

was French.

I could use a

cigar.

Fuck,

even a cigarette.

Be good.

Be good.

Be good.

What is good?

Society’s version

of good is

so beyond

fucking monotonous.

I think

I lost my soul

somewhere on

the train to

boring

trying to

align myself

with the other

lemurs.

Don’t light

the cigar.

Don’t.

Just jump.