Napkin writing in a low lit bar. I find I can tear into short haiku moments under the air conditioning and charms. Look out for my penmarks. A depleted stock of ‘kins and their self worth is estimated high. Chances are, this could be worth repeating or printing, so I put down the worth in no said amount. It just feels right past what it’s like to feel curious. There are blocks of what we want, and tantrums too are box-like. Like me back! Is what I’m hoping for. See the ‘kins in squares are all military drills and the stacks run out before the pen does. I am introduced as a writer and then asked, “Do you have a theme?” I correct my introduction by “I do not have a clue,” knowing it’s the best clue into the unknown, and that this is, yes, the theme all along. How can you arrive at a true sum total? When the brain falls out there will be no more output. The heartbeat will stop looking at girls when I’m talking to you. The plan is to go on for some great chunk of time.