Poetry

We Be, Merry Monks (?)

it’s raining and cold and
i’m content to not be 
occupying anything other
than my own mind
which is likely less
organized than a city 
park with tents and 
drum circles and ipads
 
i have an 800 credit rating
and school loans greater
than fifty K and a house
valued a smidgen or two
greater than said loans by
the tax collectors, and i can
go ride a bike after driving
some hours to the trail head
 
the rain falls in a mist, the
skies are somber grey with
no light of white-ness, just
the drab distorted kind that
filters through seemingly
miles of thick clouds that
hang in every direction, 
yes, north south east west
 

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