Out in the field Mbye saw somebody just barely there, a shirtless old man, as black as Mbye, with his trousers rolled up, who looked at him without curiosity.

I have grown out of the sock drawer. a vagrant unfit holed structure that still somehow keeps you warm.

Right about now, the devil, all come hither and cosmic slop, will claim his corner. He’ll flash his chest muscles and grunt your entire Christian name in a way you ain’t never heard before. Ignore him, but keep an eye trained in his direction.

“I’m just a random white gal raised upper-middle class. But to think that I am disconnected only allows for the continuation of a system that benefits from my ignorance.”

A teacher says You don’t know how to relax. I am afraid of hair

in the drain. When I close my eyes, I see jet pollution. A silent

monk stops me walking to dinner. If you live a long life, he writes

on his miniature chalkboard, You will be old.

There is some pain, but there always is, needles weaving in and out of the changing tissue and skin. This pain is bearable, at least. Just a nose, completely superficial. My nose is her nose, thirty seconds later.

executive

decisions

needs dying

in congress

I took a deep breath, which did absolutely nothing, and stormed out of the bathroom. Then I made a beeline for the mirrored triangle bar and ordered myself a Long Island iced tea. No one here cared how old I was.

I like the look of old, liver-spotted hands
Playing Rachmaninov with complete agility
Pounding out the chords or whispering the pianissimi