Here I am, still in the office, waiting on bullshit. Oh. Also, very much depressed. Augh,
my gf broke my heart. Le sigh. Expect bad poetry to commence. Still though, I’m working on a prose piece. It’ll be a story, that comes out in pieces. A serialized story. Fun. First though,
A cute blonde orders sushi
late-nite work day, it’s nearly eight. Lonely times,
but I can’t call you, not now.
I think of our joint, (sushi), and I get
sad, remembering what you used to order.
Shoving pieces of crab and seaweed and rice and
cucumber into my mouth and all I can do is
go back to my apartment
with us, kissing in between bites of Americanized
Japanese cuisine. But sometimes it’s pizza, and sometimes
it’s wings, and sometimes there’s a dog.
The real static fact is
that I love you. Then. Now. Still.