Wheeling in circles.
My hands fret beside me
Bill collectors, like clattering insects,
in my ears.
That almost low that reminds me
that I am blessed, despite my weary,
with so many things completing,
though right now my heart would cry.
Make a perfect omelet
by breaking a few eggs,
I rest my head on my keyboard
only momentarily conscious
of my hearts wishes.
If wishes were fishes.