These are times

I look at the desk and I watch it watch me. It smirks harder than I do. It knows about what I'm not doing, and worse, what I'm about to do. I see myself walking in between the grains in the wood, a washed-out ravine. The sky is nursery-school blue, and there's a rock in my shoe. When I brush my hand along the sides of the walls, some of the clay crumbles into my palm. It's got the consistency of the filling from a Nutter Butter, but it smells like moss. I taste it, and start to grow. I'm at my desk, watching it watch me. I click to open a new window.

"When you tire of one side the other serves you best"