My boss stationed me in Production,
Further from Jess, sister thinks I'm worth her time
Her glasses thick and black and complimentary to her face
Her eyes twitch back and forth to a silent script
A dialect dear to me dressed darkly, new shoes like a clown's, too long. Laces fall to my side, and I look all wrong.
It's all I can say, a generality today.
Straight upward treason is what has been my recent reason.
Gravely uttered finely spoke
Softly told and I try to revoke
I love hims and ...
I put the trash in a bin I found by the bus, right out front. I had been too lazy to walk maybe 200 feet to the dumpster, the one that would be emptied. My trash had shit in it. That's right. My pee and shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I hear the phoneme over the meaning as I type Shit tonight. Too lazy to walk 150 feet to the restroom. Have to shit in my own damn kitchen. In a plastic bag. I humiliate myself (is it a demon?). I peed in my mother's kitchen bowls in high school. I was so afraid of waking my parents by walking across the hallway, and too shy to withstand the possibility of my stepfather hearing my urine tinkle, that I used dirty noodle bowls, glass, in which to urinate, and kept them in my room for weeks, even months. Some were stacked. I also used teacups. My mother probably still doesn't look at them the same. What is this girl's disorder? What is its name? What energies are blocked entrapped adoring Laura giving her the name: Insane.
I haven't heard from him since I arrived home from work. He sent me a note at 6:30. I would check the exact time, but I have deleted it. Fear. Ahh, it used to be far. It shifts. Life turns in a circle. Like work. Everything is within a shift.
SHAFT
STAFF
word games.
I would sign as Laura, but I don't recognize the name.
I am to blame.
