11:22 in the P.M.

Twenty-two. Favorite number. No clock rockin’ over here. Too many cats trapped in the machine. Time.

Book-worming. Thought chasing. No company to keep. Enjoy the silence. Volume way up. Ears plugged. Neighbors crawling. There is no lawn.

A slip to Paris. Books and passport. Eye patch. Left. Think right. A quick nap. No feast.

Barefoot pride reaches the edge of a bed littered with books. Square pillows make nice sandwiches. Someone take my picture. But not of me. Chasing Baldwin’s ghost…



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