he erred
in a copernican
fashion
sense
went round and round
and never
admitted
something to himself
something he couldn't say

he threw the new yorker in a pile
and lit a cigarette
and looked at his phone
11:11
times was melting backwards
he knew he should get up and do something
but he didn't feel like it
the bed was warm
the window was open
outside somebody was tapping on something
with a slightly metallic clank

he felt bad
guilty
for no good reason
and he wondered sometimes
if it was the medications
if so it sucked
actually it sucked anyway
when he felt like that
there was no good reason for it
not that he could see anyway

he wondered what it would be like to
sell everything and move to the desert
get a double wide trailer and
a swamp cooler
drive 40 miles to shop for groceries
in an air conditioned Astro van

get himself a pretty little conchita
to make tamales
and feed the goat
drink beer from an ancient refrigerator
Maybe Baja would be better
or San Jacinto