the feels you find in my writing are there purposely.
to notice ideas wandering at the outskirts of my awareness its kinda because i assume they are there to rend there to mend there to defend my heart and then chew my bones.
i keep looking for the line that was waiting in line. scanning for a raised hand at the back of the stanza. for the voice simmering just under the noise and the scribbles. coffee in coffee shops is easy, asking someone else to grind it out and brew it means that you are in their hands for the gift of the sip.