Thursday, January 29, 2015


What I'm not seeing when the sun is not streaming through the patio door, what I'm refusing to imprint when I wake up and it's not there and I kick a cat bowl across the kitchen, the kitchen that is only grey tile and a step above the living quarters and I twist my back reaching over the counter for the radio switch and for what, World Service, service the world for Christ's sake, stop scaring me into a stupor, Quaker laughing at me from his perch on the oatmeal tube, daring me to fill a pan with water, boil it and start my food cycle over.

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