Blah 14: Leviathan

She was an unstoppable force
“Leviathan,” I called her
in my mind

until she crashed
into me.

The Writer listens to an old song from Dave Matthews Band and tries to figure out how the fuck to come up with a decent poem. Or how to finish it. Is it worth finishing, anyway? Is anything worth anything? “The space between…” the music goes. “Who’s Leviathan?” wonders The Writer; “Which one of them?” He’s thinking of his lovers. He’s only wearing a bathrobe, his workout sweat drying on his naked skin, untidy chest hair, trimmed down pubes. Just the right amount of anxiousness and an undertow of angst and horniness are lingering. The future, sitting in some dark corner, gives him the finger. “Fuck you too,” he thinks. YouTube now plays Round here by Counting Crows. He watches the video for a few seconds. “Note to self: never get dreadlocks,” he says to himself. Quietly, he laughs. He would rather be fucking somebody instead. The newest, definitive Leviathan.

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