It can’t be there and not here. I don’t have time. Discuss the virtues of ain’t; vernacular conjugation of to be or not to be? Beans porridge corn tortillas for dinner, then a hot bath that turned my skin ruddy and sleek, I caught myself thinking in narrative dialogue and it’s been a while. Symptoms of depression ignored in favor of bed, the days grow darker and darker, we dwell in silence like hushed fiddlestrings which somehow lost their tune overnight. All those hokey self-indulgent navel gazing poems I wrote a hundred years ago now make me think I was someone else. And I was. And I ain’t. I need those soft woolen warm strong arms wrapped tight around me, and pet my hair.