I have a painless headache. Its feet are in my stomach. It’s treading water. I am waiting for an answer. The door is cracked.
Eight states border Missouri. My house, today slated with misery. Where is the shipment of citrate from Avalon to line my parapet?
I spend the day making love to a watch. To the tick of the grandfather clock, my reflection in the tock of its brazenly arched pendulum reveals my concave awareness.
All the while, where’s my answer? Where’s peace to grasp? Just when I nearly accepted that I was abandoned, I remembered I forgot to ask.