I’ve no shortage of
commitment to things that are
much less than long-term.

I’ve no commitment
to things that are sustaining
in any real way.

I’ve many ways to
earn money, small pocketfuls
weekly but most dull.

I’ve few ways to breathe
creative breaths, so haiku
are sparse and worthless.

There is no home here.
There is Clementine, work
and the blue ocean.

I’m trying to save, that worth saving
I’m trying to rid, that worth ridding
I’m trying to collide my insides