a grey knive lurking on the corner of the bathroom counter, incongruously balanced on the edge - just about to fall - the light of day leaked into the room like dish detergent being squeezed gently out of a bottle, and over in the corner, rats rustled in a paper bag. he walked into the room to the sound of the ceiling fan slowly
misunderstood. his left sneaker squeaked slightly. paper in his
pocket crumpled up and a blue crayon behind one ear. a muddy cigarette in one hand and no lighter. his eyes are silently stained-glass windows inside a church with no congregation, waiting for the hollow bellpulls - the doorbell of the Almighty. he takes out a sharpie and marks an x on the wall. moments later a fly buzzes fatly in and lands on the ��������������������������������������������spot, preening and humming to itself. below, at the baseboard, an ant trundles in. he looks at the mirror. he looks away. outside, a bird hits the window, and all things still, in hushed������������������������������������������mourning. an ignorant cricket looses a selfish mating call and
2003-03-15, 1:26 a.m.
it creeps
���������
�����something about elizabeth smart's cousin also being a target for kidnapping. heard on msn news.
the screen on her window was cut and a chair was placed directly outside. i imagine overgrown rhododendrons. mulch. a stale wind. a half-moon drowning in itself, frothing with blackness. thick trees and a dog barking somewhere nearby but not too near.
the draining feeling in your face as you stand near the chair and slowly finger the screen's tear ... and realise ...
it reminds me of
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�SEH