Whir Blur
This is your universe.
It's 6:30 am. I've had zero time to blog in the past few weeks. Scheduling is something that fell in the highway ditch along with rusted mufflers and snapped brakelines weeks ago. It's go, go, go.
You know, you know, you know.
Shows have been played. I grab what little sleep I can - like a beggar, going from door to door within the realm of consciousness.
The canopy spreads out. My muscles tighten.
I open my eyes and see road. All the time.
The fan blows on, pushing wind into me.
No stars at noon to light my way.
