Punkish air smothers my mood

The cable demands are broken

I can’t read with the tv on

I am untethered

I haven’t reached the Foggy Bottom

My fingers press the keyboard

Words fly

Searching for clarity

Connecting the dots

Matching the lingering minutes

Drifting toward bedding

Waiting for the witching hour

Patiently decreasing the nervous anxiety

Giving way to a recurring tape

No groundhog for me

A measured disgust

Depletes my litter

Streaming away my conscience

Snap, snap and snap