Folded thought of the day:

What day is it?  Am I asleep?  Or out wandering the streets, 
looking for various bits of trouble to get myself in to.  
Who can tell these days?  I'm here and I'm there.  And 
you turn around and I've gone to the dogs.  Looking over 
my shoulder and running firmly into stationary objects.  
A piece of stationery you can hang on to.  Worth more 
than all these bits and pieces.  

Did you get a laugh?  Did it make a point?  Who can 
bother figuring these things out.  Busy schedules 
and busy minds.  Buzzing away -- gotta keep those 
ringers turned off.  They'll set you up every time.  

Words are recovering from stressful situations.  
Sounding off their dispossession.  Their distinct 
points of entry.  Audible inclusions.  Retractable 
conclusions.  Soulful solutions.  Invitations and 
institutions.  

Tuning out the friendly notes.  Bygones being 
bygones.  What else were they going to be?  
Got stuck with that saying.  Typecast before 
they had a chance to set themselves apart.  
Tough going.  

Napping in the corner.  Waking up and falling down.  
Sitting here on the ground.  Getting up and doing 
it all over again.  

Rejuvenate.

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