Rain pattered on the broken ceiling drawing Autumn forth like a tidal wave.

Dirty dishes shine in the glory of the morning as a mountain rises on the bedroom floor.

I have the time, but waste it I do.

Eyes flick and flutter through exhausted ripples of something better off in the distance,

but I’m clenched and drained by the suction of being.

To the woods, I pray,

that dirt will notice my withered shoes,

that trees will comfort my sleep,

the stream will flow through in nourishing surges,

and the owls will hoot my soul away.

Away from the leftover mutant stew and cranial confusion poo.

Begone with you!