hard to be

I'm in Goleta at a starbux.  Something is needling me.  The parking lot noise?  Shadows of anxiety?  I've felt paranoid sometimes lately.  It's hard to be around people.

The janitor comes by to sweep a spot and I feel like such a have.  He's a have-not.

Today I'm picking up a special box.  In the box are zines, zines I made long ago, and I will go through them again to pick poems and make an anthology.  I did this before and lost all my work.

I look forward to seeing a poem about Peter Pan called "Wendy."  And two dreams--the interplanetary time traveling librarian nuclear holocaust dream and one about God.