Tuesday, December 15, 2009

pen alt

I'm not sure how I ended up in an empty classroom in Andrews, drinking coffee and crying, but it feels right.

There's a lot to say; too much.

This morning in the snow-sharpened sun there was a long white hair on my windowsill. As I got dressed I found another hair, clinging to the lace edge of my bra, short and brown and the softest I've ever felt, like a rabbit, like a puppy in a dream.

I begin to feel parts of me freeze and burst and rupture, like a cellulose plant structure, leaking and wilted. My apartment fills with a cloud of dust that doesn't dance and coil in the sun-beam like my cigarette smoke but hangs and lingers and makes me almost scream. All over the ground is abrasive with salt and grit.
I never scream; You've never seen me scream. I mean heard.

If you were to go back through everything I've written here tabulating the most used words or phrases, I bet dollars to donuts it would be
I feel
I feel
"I feel"

this is not intentional; i wish i could turn it off

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