Quick wet metronome and a little pee down the wall behind the marble stand. Windgrowls and pants so loud you d swear bears are hellbent on breaking in as though October again. Every few minutes a thousand seeds get spit at the windows and rivery eaves. And the drizzle she caught before it could soak the books she d given her father, come back to her moved to tears, pulses like a scared rabbit s or Johnny s arteries being a dinosaur. Another place an I.V. drip.
Wind sucks back into itself to crash more like whitewater than air.
Yesterday I looked one way today another. It's after noon and I should comb my hair. If you ask me, it's the only way to do with money. Tuck it into a sweet-smelling container so it will at least seem clean and set you floating on what it might buy that hasn't even been published yet. Mine I require to write myself in the currency of this odd body you can take to the bank.