polaroids on pinewood

All right, this is me, sitting in my office, nice and cold. My children's picture's the only thing on my desk that makes any sense, and still there's always so much more junk every day--junk to do, junk to pass to the next fool, junk to throw away. Well, perhaps I exaggerate; perhaps the rubberduckie Debbie left when she retired thinks this is all just grand. I think it might be, given the right time--and, God, there is so much of that. Time to think of all the things to think about... daydreams and truths... both rarely pure and never simple... Oscar got it right, didn't he? No! Not that one! The green one, not the one with the green carnation.

Ah! How they stare at me from my mother's couch! All smiles, their recrimination for my absense is more painful for being so filled with love and understanding.

I'll call them... I'll call them soon... I'll say hello.