Twelve Hours To Go by Sy Roth leisure moves in to sleep with me on my sofa a companion like a homeless, long-lost cousin. days stretch out in indolence and tossed timepieces resting among a slew of colorful ties. refrigerator beckons me. in a lethargic, ass-scratching stretch conduct an archeological dig through its slimy ham, hardened bread, and moldy cheese. today I will move some dirt from a patch looking askew my Leaning Tower spied out of the corner of my eye-reroute the edging, replace the stakes, weed the small plot and sweep the refuse repeatedly into a black garbage bag. thirty minutes of diversion. pungent, earthy smells follow me into the house. took up where I left off in my novel the assassin within transported me there. no longer feeling manipulated by authors, I journey with them. Will I transport today? my head becomes a wrecking ball, weebling/ wobbling stabbing at my chest with a receding chin train-wrecking snores stir me. the sun rips a crimson streak across my left cheek. my Madeleine, dried cookies and sounds of imagined, tapping keys fellow travelers in my somnambulism. the overused delete button leaves a trail of incoherent words and a discordant rhapsody sings a morose song in a jumbled day-- twelve hours to go. Gyroscope Review 51 !