14.1.12

they also pay, who meet in hotel rooms

So I'm back at it: choosing from a flea-market of college classes and french-pressing my way through the cold. A month's worth of pent up energy is being released, and i am making tops and sorting through my desk of written, half-written, and unwritten letters. There are a lot of addressed and stamped, but empty, envelopes.

As Yeats said:
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

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