How It Ends Here
I finish a commission. I organize all surfaces. I take a breath. My routine. Has changed over time. The essence remains. Remove all residue. Forget that last start. Prepare for next. There is nothing after next. Ever. The sets of small files are collected. Old versions oppose new ones. Never to commingle. Scraps of filler culled. A bit of color added to ward off convention. And a Jackson is tossed from high up just to see where it lands. It finds the A.O. Cloth pile. I come in tomorrow and hit the reset button. There is nothing after next. One day this will be true.
All This By Hand