colors please me most. Black gray, plain stills, life-views. Sweet jasmine. Claws into proportion on a canvas sketched on an easel ready to begin. Wondering at the fact that the blood you had always read about was there and actually running through the body right now and not just to pose for a textbook to teach college-prone minds. Things sometimes do exist as they say they do. Not often. Pronounceables are sacred. Fruit baskets delivered to my door, apples, pears, plums, were poison. A gift from a friend. No lover of mine, to get fat is wicked. To be fat is to be punished. Go without sex for three years. Fat ripples under the skin are not becoming. They should shrivel and leave me alone. Jet get out of here.
I found one of my eyelashes. I knew it was mine. It had that certian look. That odd look. Tucked away in the wilderness is a leaf. Beautiful, stemming from a tall tree. Perhaps one that bears acorns for squirrels. And there, in Autumn, on the forest's floor, is a small stiff leaf. Dried up -- nature handling it's veins. Smell it. The smell of Autumn falling down. Tuck it in a purse, take it home, being careful not to let it crumple. Don't let it die. It can't die. I love it. It's so cute, and precious. It can't die.
Tiny blue specks. I speak of them highly. Tinge centering on a system not in use, except in secret. Negotiations, a system works. Future planners need order to their lives. Systematically arranging what is to happen and when. Why would they pick one over the other. A chance seemed impossible, and irregulars, line perpendicular to algebraic equations sorted out for the future planners. Rearranged for the best efficiency in the home. A small bug flew past the refrigerator unprepared for.
Creeping in through the screen; a machine with nothing to do. Nothing to cool. Doodlings too spooky to have analyzed. Sitting in the spring, pollen dust up my nose. Or the power of thought. Of anticipation. No reasons but plenty of answers. Freudian theories. The children don't pay attention to me. They'd let me die. Until they got hungry.
No one will write me a letter.
Come on get happy.
RIVER BED 32
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