52/343: While
Feb. 8th, 2026 06:46 pmBeen feeling mostly crappy all day, and more so as it passed. There's really nothing to be done at such times. Usually I just watch videos. Funny ones to cheer me up and music to distract me when the cheering fails, as it tends to do. I could have gone to bed early, but then I'd have just woken up too early in the chilly dark being sad. I can't put it off any longer though. I hope I'll be tired enough not to notice how uncomfortable I am. Then it will be possible to sleep, at least for a while.
Sunday Verse
by John Perreault
These tall things don’t need weeding.
But I can’t get over the fireplace.
It’s useless.
Except as an ashtray.
The lights stay on
and the windows remain wide open.
I am standing outside of us
in another building
or in the other room.
I am safely lodged inside the
vulnerable.
I am the music of the traffic outside
and I am your complete body.
These states are unfallen
and into the ash
a window sticks its hand
to try out pieces of glass
the way a model
tries on style.
These stars too
and into the climate
winter burns a hole in the side of a hill.
The lights stay on
but the room fades out.
This is not noticed until later,
when the room returns,
harder,
more real than even the reality
of novels and films.
I drive my submission
like a beautiful icepick
into the bedspread of your life.
Sunday Verse
The Lights
by John Perreault
These tall things don’t need weeding.
But I can’t get over the fireplace.
It’s useless.
Except as an ashtray.
The lights stay on
and the windows remain wide open.
I am standing outside of us
in another building
or in the other room.
I am safely lodged inside the
vulnerable.
I am the music of the traffic outside
and I am your complete body.
These states are unfallen
and into the ash
a window sticks its hand
to try out pieces of glass
the way a model
tries on style.
These stars too
and into the climate
winter burns a hole in the side of a hill.
The lights stay on
but the room fades out.
This is not noticed until later,
when the room returns,
harder,
more real than even the reality
of novels and films.
I drive my submission
like a beautiful icepick
into the bedspread of your life.