Wednesday, January 18, 2006

I cannot tell you if it’s the aggravation of a sticking mouse ball,
The suitcase still on the floor behind me
Filled with odds and ends of his
Still unassigned to any home
The demanding clamor of the wind-chime made complainant by a restless south wind
Or the nagging ache where my teeth have clenched too often
But each day I turn away from the screen before the keyboard can register my fingerprints
Sometimes there isn’t enough of me
To write down in words

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