Quills

The book is bundled.  Done.  That’s all there is.  Why am I up this late?  Not ‘cause the author has some problem, or harmful habits.  ‘CAUSE I’M A WRITER, determined to step as such, finish a project.  PROJECTS.  Critics of my practice, honestly, just funny to me.  Like the three pours from hours past, I cap my hat in a lapsed caste.  Does it convey sense to your eyes?  Not concerned.  There’s 3 of me, like the stemless sips b4 thee.

This Room, trapping me in streets of sequential sentences, those lucrative.  If nothing, for the session itSelf.  Like 2Pac b4 me, I’m questioning a lot.  From the government’s handling of matters, to existential continuances, rumbles.  Good thing no one’s near this wine writer, at present.  Feeling like the agitated alligator.  Need a PS sip.