Fear of dying in my sleep…of dying in poverty, no career I climbed up to reflect on… just a plethora of aspirations and thoughts racing like a flock of thousands of birds headed south…while America’s democracy and rule of law corrode…gin and prayers fail to relax me…
But I am like my grandmother.
She used to listen to talk radio late at night as she fell asleep, sometimes not until three a.m.…
I watch the news on my laptop…
I’m beginning to understand some of my anxiety’s nuances beyond the constantly striking panic attacks, insomnia, night time alcohol abuse, and …
Mark Holland, he owned the hostel where I could no longer afford to lodge; with grace, he insisted I stay.
Mark treated my poems like hundred dollar …
Walking helps me meditate.
My thoughts: streaming, roaming, like wind, or birds flying.
No obligations… except to walk, and meditate.
The sky, a sheet …
January, 2016: I see President Barack Obama crying.
Small splotches of white salt under his dark brown, snowy night eye seem dabbed on there by a paint brush; of course, it’s just the light …
The fight for justice…hands stretching, muscles tearing, reaching for the sky- daunting, tempting to surrender, and submit, assuming futility, but people walked on the moon, made a vaccine …
This election feels like a spaceship heading for a black hole.
Please don’t explode…please don’t explode…please don’t explode, and shatter like the …
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