![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetFred-like, twenty-four
hours through a shackled muse, all
five-seven-five-y.
Winter: wind and ice,
snowy trees bereft of leaves.
Forget hairstyling.
---
Get the issue out!
Finish editing and mail.
What we said last week.
---
Almost done, but wait!
Here's something we overlooked.
Send it tomorrow?
---
Trying to get home.
Tonight, it's the Bruins game. (*)
Fucking Fleet Center.
---
Warm when snow falls, but
cloying and rather nasty:
Dunkin' Donuts chai.
---
Sins in a past life:
stuck now in a crowded train
breathing flatulence.
---
Hypocaustic bliss:
Our kitchen floor is heated.
Sleep with the dishes?
---
Snow on the ground; a
fattening taste of summer --
fresh guacamole.
---
Wet latex and wire,
cotton gloves and memory,
Son-of-Ether prop.
---
Blow, thou winter wind,
frigid life-hating blasts -- but
I still want ice cream.
---
Dreaming of ghostly
apparitions of people
who aren't, I think, dead.
---
Won't get up early,
shovel and salt the sidewalk.
It will melt in spring.
---
Inconsiderate
trash men left cans in the street.
Almost missed my train.
---
What have I done wrong?
"Let's Hear It For the Boy" is
stuck in my head now.
---
Okay. That's enough of that.
---
(*) This works for nearly any weekday, year-round. Just replace "Bruins game" with "Celtics game," "Ice Capades," "Backstreet Boys," whatever you (dis)like.
hours through a shackled muse, all
five-seven-five-y.
Winter: wind and ice,
snowy trees bereft of leaves.
Forget hairstyling.
---
Get the issue out!
Finish editing and mail.
What we said last week.
---
Almost done, but wait!
Here's something we overlooked.
Send it tomorrow?
---
Trying to get home.
Tonight, it's the Bruins game. (*)
Fucking Fleet Center.
---
Warm when snow falls, but
cloying and rather nasty:
Dunkin' Donuts chai.
---
Sins in a past life:
stuck now in a crowded train
breathing flatulence.
---
Hypocaustic bliss:
Our kitchen floor is heated.
Sleep with the dishes?
---
Snow on the ground; a
fattening taste of summer --
fresh guacamole.
---
Wet latex and wire,
cotton gloves and memory,
Son-of-Ether prop.
---
Blow, thou winter wind,
frigid life-hating blasts -- but
I still want ice cream.
---
Dreaming of ghostly
apparitions of people
who aren't, I think, dead.
---
Won't get up early,
shovel and salt the sidewalk.
It will melt in spring.
---
Inconsiderate
trash men left cans in the street.
Almost missed my train.
---
What have I done wrong?
"Let's Hear It For the Boy" is
stuck in my head now.
---
Okay. That's enough of that.
---
(*) This works for nearly any weekday, year-round. Just replace "Bruins game" with "Celtics game," "Ice Capades," "Backstreet Boys," whatever you (dis)like.
