If I sit down now I’ll never get up again and then we’ll never know.
If we never know we’ll never go.
(This isn’t what I came for, this isn’t what I need.)
Well now we’re settled in.
Yes we’re settled in again.
That old woman across the way mops her bedroom floor in her nightgown each morning.
You say settled in, I say emptied out. And the clock overtakes us all.
Maybe she’s cleaning up whatever comes out of the woodwork.
Your grip is slipping again isn’t it.
We’ll never go.
Originally published a long time ago on Art & Insolence where I usually hang out. Bringing it back because it’s been on my mind lately.