Cataract of mind, a muslin clouding thought, a lattice of uncertainty and dim unfamiliarity.
“She loves me” and “She loves me not” both now a “Maybe, sometimes.” I’m ambivalent, myself.
Gray areas preponderate: worse, darker in the offing, whales but motion in the bleary water.
I know where it’s going. There will come a morning when it isn’t clear if any sun has risen.
Tom Riordan lives in New Jersey. He’s a retired restaurant worker and teacher, and dreams about becoming pope for his next career.

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