A day without a day

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The disurgency of the moment happens when there are no moments left or they are unrecognized. Are you happening right now?

Is anything really happening outside the self?

Shit! The day went by without laundry. "How long can the laundry hold out?" I ask the day and my clothes, piled up for the cats to sleep on. Too sleep in my clothes, that is a luxury that I seldom share with others. Everything else is a grab-bag of my self. To sleep is an afterthought and an acceptance, wondering when the robe of love will wake.

Smoke twirls around the fan and then out the window. Bacon grease collects on the blades of breakfast for dinner, whirring in my stomach. The eggs broken. The potatoes crisp in the night as I wait. Empty beer bottles from days ago stand, drank, on this desk. Left over coffee like syrup down my throat.

These really happen.

As I wait for the day to happen.

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