less than an outline, even

after spending an entire day with forty-some twenty-somethings and a roomful of toddlers, one drops into prufrock,

...though certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

so easy, then, to drop and retreat to when the slope was snowy and sidewalks treacherous and we hunkered inside, awake.

Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions

and fulfilling a rash promise that re-orients and complicates, more proof i'm not configured for those conventions. oh fuck, that's not what i meant, at all.

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.