Hello, the week has been slow & strange. Here is a poem that I wrote while in bed with a glass of whiskey, dreaming of the future.

i want to know if you feel the way i do when, we come close & then apart as we do,
year after year after year
we have become thieves of taste & touch,
treading upon strings of time
& in this room that we too have stolen,
i find a memory of seasons underneath our blanket
yes, the blossoming trees, & all the rest
& all the rest

It’s going to be a short episode th...