dear west branch,

ugh. too much coffee, soul-sucking. i am so stuck between wanting to be here & never wanting to come back again i am so stagnant. i can't even write a poem about it. last night though my dad took me back to the property line & there were 4 baby raccoons in the crotch of an elm. the mother in a hole above them, hiding. /a matter of swelling or apathy / or everyone too hot to move/. tufted titmouse had built her nest right there, mama raccoon had eggs for dinner. ms. titmouse so fucking angry, flitting around, relentlessly pulling fur from mama raccoon, had a beak so full of fur she was bearded & tufted. hilarious, also baby animals really are that fucking cute. the hill really was that big. & steep as hell. only a bear could climb it, unless one happened to be real drunk. everyone i graduated with has a baby or a wife. probably will get drunk at the one bar downtown tonight & play pool with boys from high school. then sit a while by the post office before i drive home, lay in my parents' yard & look at stars, cry myself to sleep. dunno if it's this place or me that's so predictable.

obviously much more but.