autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

Eight And A Fifteenth

All the things that I would say used to spill freely on these pages.

Now I pause and consider certain readers. Then I spend time arguing with myself over it.

Even my muse is tired of it.

I have spent my life waiting on others to grant me a place at their table.

It’s high time I make my own.

It’s probably going to be a table for one.

I am increasingly okay with the notion… tired of waiting for what never arrives.

The bubbles of La Brea break slowly, but always with finality.

“Anything but that tar pit!” – Brier Rabbit