For My Well-Grounded Roommate

Yeah I suppose I’m spamming. If this gets on your nerves well, you know what to do. Mornings are the hardest time for me concerning getting anything done but impulsive writing. Not sure why. Especially when I’ve been sleeping well. I’ve been having a helluva dream that’s continued sequentially for several nights now. Some meanings slowly become clear. Not all. But I know Winter is settling in.

But enough about me. Or not. Mock poets generally only write about themselves. I suppose they all do.

Always you with your appropriate responses
getting down to my very last nerve
A rise from you is hard to conjure
until it moves beyond any form of entertainment.
I throw a mug across the room
Full of sticky sweet tea
and your response, "Dramatic."
So calmly I suspect I detect irony.
So much for my self-indulgence
You've totally switched up the mood.
I'm glad you're my roommate.
I guess let's just forget the whole thing,
Sit down, and watch some mindless TV.

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Filed under dreams, mad ruminations, poetry, writing

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