On North Albina in a house that's spacious and old, I'm under blankets though my toes, they are still cold regardless. My head is stuffy and there's a toilet paper roll slowly depleting as I cough up a lung.

At the upstairs window, I'm on the level with power lines. I'm sick for one thing, then there's some horrible stuff on my mind. (I won't recount it.) I've got a sunbeam headache — yeah, the light's driving me blind. I wish I had a dime for all these songs I've sung today with a scratchy throat and burnt-out eyes.

May's first week has given us something to fight: springtime pollen makes it hard to sleep at night and rest easy. Garlic tea is heating on the stove to fuel the words that I'll rewrite and I wish I had a dime for each time the phone has rung for someone else — while I'm waiting on the bright red floor to be carried away to a place that I'll like much more, where every day the scenery will be changing and pressing back the dwelling.

On North Albina in a house that's spacious and old, I'm under blankets though my toes, they are still cold regardless. My head is stuffy and there's a toilet paper roll slowly depleting as I cough up a lung.