I wake up, shrug on a cardigan and drink coffee.
Next, I tend to starving peasant boys wandering
around my living room. Their blackened feet
remind me that I need to mop.
Fumes from nearby work trucks travel
through open windows. Oddly, it reminds me of Paris.
It's autumn. A wasted summer of muddled thought.
Grainy photographs and words hover,
waiting for their chance.
My hands make crumb cake instead.