Wednesday, April 12, 2017

I am notating . It is inside an oven inside my face a red sky sloop-down weeppweepweep. I am stained beyond anything that might occur in the bathtub at night. In the morning [L] sat on my chest and begged that my fever and I stay home stay home he was the Magicker sleek and black we are dizzy with mustard pricks. I cried and the phone flung itself out of my hand. My throat is a yellow eyeglass. My lungs are wasps. To-day. Just sit. To-morrow the same. Sunday I will go to mass and beg forgiveness.

4 Comments:

Blogger Ms. Moon said...

Your birdbath is lovely. Right beside it is a good place to sit.

April 12, 2017 at 2:33 PM  
Blogger Joanne said...

Oh honey, I hope you feel better. You've had more than your share lately. You need more than a break. Hugs.

April 12, 2017 at 4:42 PM  
Blogger liv said...

Sitting is good. Bundled up in the rest air is best.
Love you.

April 12, 2017 at 5:22 PM  
Blogger 37paddington said...

Oh, I'm sorry you're feeling this way, but what an kickass poem you wrote about it, you are a sorceress with words. Sit, dear R, and bundle yourself in a blanket and sit some more. Kisses on your forehead.

April 13, 2017 at 11:56 AM  

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