it's 9/11. i have 11 drafts in my draft folder. my green #11 shirt was eaten by moths years gone by. still it's 9:11 twice daily. still it's my favorite number i say though i don't have a clear notion why.
the 11th draft reads 

Despair desperate
air contraction of
expansion

it's a draft of something i wanted to write or maybe just to feel in my head and release.
now i feel it yet i don't feel it release. how do we release what is inarticulate in us. we have to talk about this.

delete draft #11. 

oh shit, it's after 11 o'clock. i got to walk.