Solitary. Accompanies me in the rooms I sit, an old friend who has made himself comfortable, settled into my life routine; puts the dirt beneath nails so to scrape away by teeth. The taste of today’s extras lingers long enough so I am reminded to eat away problematic thoughts. Extract the itch from my foot the pitch from my throat the ache of my body, afloat in yesterday speak. Something in the frontal lobe burrows further, as if space has been granted. That which is solitary does not understand its true home, outside the body where it may shrivel into itself.