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i saw a book bound by blindmen, with a page that stretched across the room like a tiger, and tented i slept under an alphabet of stars. i ate noodles shaped by wet words, slick with lime, washed down with gulps of pink syrupy light. every morning i woke before the alarm of sullen music, lifted instead by the yawn of cold sunshine that tapped at the window. your shape in my bed gave off the scent of wet soil, the dew still visible, and while i dozed lillies flourished and caressed my face, staining my eyebrows and moustache. i walked out for coffee, let it drip between my lips, sat on the warm leather settee waiting for your perfect scent and watching the lovers go through each other's wallets. the students sat on stools they made out of satre, greer, blake, they swayed in the murder of the stale roses, taking it in turns to throw the dice, to hold their breath and grimace over aniseed gobfuls. i started biting my nails. i ate a bull tomato salad weighted by the buffalo history of our black tshirt dates, our stolen doorway kisses, our oh my god it's really windy here. the sing-a-long. the square fruit my gums could not fit around. the shadow of ribs on the ceiling.
9:32 a.m. - 2011-01-24
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