a perfect definition of drinking the cold cup

I am easy, too. It is true. And the warning, or the discouragement from ease, from a friend or two... they would say a worry which is meant to cling me to an ideal aloof. I am sitting here now; it's officially november because we can all tell... it's the still skeletal yard trees, the weird quiet in the morning, the unlikely solid overcast, thorough, final. Some near-winter punctuation. The dregs of sentimentality. It's a new frost! from the stranger cat, a white paw pressd to my leg, his one eye is green, his one eye is blue. The arm hug of claws.

Am I the only fearless one? is it impossible to be the only fearless one. When I charge with ebullience: fear is the killer; and I charge again, burbling, gushing, effluvial: communication serenade it all about... and to never, ever use love in your sentences.

efflux

In the sentimental morning. Finding the sheaf, I know the fact against the facts. A mentality sent  forward, sentimentality pitching & yawing. If it make sense. Today I have a lower tolerance, the head more honest & on the neck. I like it, as if the versus are all laid out, my own nighttime verses retrospectively humorous. The morning this way that, why because. One or other. Through & through and out and done.