all these poems are piling up around me
along with code in various ordered and unordered lists
why am i  still affected by mention of bleak grey mornings stretching out all day,
razor sharp edges, childish fancies?
spring is making me feel  restless, 
cooped up inside with my computer,
dust, plaster flakes, ten layers of peeling wallpaper,
cords coiled around my ankles like a trap,
and now an  intrigue with a  boy i don't like but he has 1 redeeming quality,
unspeakable in mixed company.
where is perfect resolution like in bach's chorals,
dominant to tonic and every voice coming to a  satisfying cadence
 
-jess


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