In the studio on a gloomy Sunday afternoon,
(I have a studio now, I guess)
Does this mean I’ve made it?
Not quite yet
But it’s nice to pretend.

Too much coffee
Not enough food
Anxious dog pacing the room
Write and revise
Stretch my sore neck.

On the other side
Of the window, gray concrete
Greets a matching shade of gray sky
They’re building another parking garage
In a city where everyone I know struggles to survive.


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