Omaha

I can't apologize enough for denying everyone my company this morning. Im busy than I've ever been in my life. I don't like it. Here's a poem I wrote about Omaha. This counts as an entry right?

I can’t wont now turn back to our frosty mornings some place better than here romance. This city. This odd city. Where I experienced the small population so fully. It’s cold not as bitter in recollect but quiet and familiar. This city iron rust and brick of ancient money gone west and left the strong behind. I’ve never been more hypocritical than when I miss you. My older self then scorning the harsh wind walk out of stranger apartment and new sun drive home. This place where I caked on sweat of new flame and dirt of one night lying on open mattress. Meticulous roadways from ribbed brick road to lonely bar on god knows how far street. Where I drank the imports of back home comfort and spilled whiskey on my pants to make you less embarrassed. Again and again. How they had blurred in the present and are each unique in retro. This city. Where my legal status changed like the weather. You are a breath away. And now are a package of disorderly thought I knew better. I love the captive hurt always looking east to the abrupt end of this town. The Stockholm reality shown under mellow light of outdated infrastructure. This heart of America with no beat. The dead still walking playground shivering cigarette fix outside building deemed unfit for filthy habits. Bum ‘em and give standard explanation of smoke karma and how you’re always handing ‘em out when you’ve got ‘em. The addiction to conversation still outweighs the fear of the self-conscious. And drink. And money come from trees that I water with hatred. And drink come from money that I hand over with regret. And dollar jukebox come from songs in my car for free but no one there to listen. And listen. Listen to this. Tell me that you feel the way I do when you hear it. Tell me this makes you aware of your skin and chemical experience. Tell me then we know we are each other. And I’ll tell you. But with more focus on the corner of your mouth. Wrinkle of subtle pleasure to be a part and play it well my fellow. Listen to us, you city of red light stare across the lane at other intimacies. Listen to us cause we never have enough time to say it. Your crackling concrete that felt our soles on walks to horrors and strolls of ecstasy.