| better words . . . . here there and everywhere |
I am silent as her words twist through the wires. She has no idea. And how could she? I never told her, never told anyone really. As her sentences reach my ear, and the telephone receiver presses hard into my cheek, her words recede into static. I hear only blood. I don't know why I smile when we hang up. She isn't watching. She can't see me. "Go into the bathroom. Collect yourself." Bent over, head hanging between my knees, my spine corrects itself, each vertebrae softly popping back into place. Have I come undone again? Oh please, not again. I used to like patterns. I found meaning in them, serenity. Now all I see are circles. Stagnation. Recipes for disaster. And I think I've been unhinged... once again. |
better places . . . . over under and through |