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[A.K.A.T.D.N.]

It's nice to sit by a computer. Warm summers are gone and words fall in concentric circles. A man mumbles in the park and doesn't know his end. A dog is marking his tracks, cats scramble for their young.

I awoke, last night, thinking I wanted to leave. I thought perhaps the door was open but decided it was better closed. Without the day ahead, I could dream.

I dreamt I was at a long journey's end, awaiting sleep. No music was playing now for me to proceed, through long shut doors, my needs. I could open the window, and hear the Chinese man mumbling in the streets. He must've had a stroke, he always pleads.

To get in, his little door. By a buzzer for a reward. I hate the sound of this crashing door, walking in, voiceless walls.