It's not us I miss so much as you
Go ahead and tell all your friends I'm bad news
I guess I should be used to it by now
Scrounging through piles of clothes that no longer fit
To get a mismatched pair of socks
Dress up for the coffee shop down the street
I don't even drink coffee
Mostly, I sit and write letters in the form of poems
Formless enough to fake intent
Malcontent counting dividends
A roll of duct tape around my head
And a place to kick my shoes
Mr. No News
Good enough
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