Perhaps on a Post-it note

 

A stray thought, half-dressed and unshaven, wanders into the kitchen and opens the fridge. It stares at the mustard, as if it might contain answers.

Meanwhile, my intentions have curled up beneath the radiator dreaming of a warmer existence.

I suspect I’ve been seen talking to a lamppost or applauding the silence between songs. If so, forgive me. I was trying to remember back when the music was worthy.

Should you stumble upon my coherence, please feed it something warm and leave it by the window with a note that reads: “Gone to fetch the rest of him.”

Thank you