too much or too little
looking out the same window
for eight years and counting
no dogs and more cats
a few grey hairs
deeper lines
and body parts that creak
with sudden movements

wagering wavelengths
of weighted wanderlust
the days start too early
and the nights end too late
and there are rules
that we still refuse
to follow

work to play
and
play to die
(happy)
some folk never get it
i’d rather sit here
with a beer
and the consistent hum
of this durable and
infernal machine
creating scripts of
illaborious immortality