with whom I’m more or less
expected to some degree converse,
the silence contains too much room.
Space for a life’s supply of stock
tickers—one for every potential investment.
Still I typically default.
In the presence of my self only,
interval is everything. It’s all there is.
The room, of course, is staggering.
But it’s often like August: you can
hang your hat, take a nap.
--me
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