ਹਜਾ

I hold two jobs. First, turn and toss in the night asking myself, “what was the need?” Second,  holding a teacup in the daytime asking, “what the need was?” Need appears to be lost retroactively. I taste only salt and I spit bland. My mouth has dried and words have flaked inside my throat. I will let them wither and fall, then I’ll drink water.

Anything could happen…  but nothing has to. Just a faint rustle. it’s not Yet’O clock yet.