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/ november is a month of ghosts

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
2003-04-15, 3:37 p.m.

lemonade on the lawn

��������� �����center of the world -

the temperature reads at seventy-five, enough to make the mercury smile. our door keeps getting egged slowly closed, like schoolchildren prodding it with grins and malice -

the wind plays with it. the wind from our springtime cantilevered window. flowers. sunlight is as pure and bright as liquefied crystals, gobs and dollops of it sticking to my eyelashes like rain. brightening our vision, our eyes getting washed clean with dish detergent, with Joy. (warning, blatant metaphor)

signs along the road, warning gleeful children here. warning shirtless men and bikini-clad women here. warning beach ahead jampacked with people. warning springtime is earthquaking all around.

warning wintertime you have been genocided. the berlin wall of wintertime has fallen and the iron curtain is replaced with grandmother-lace drapes, in the breeze. delicately embroidered with bluebells and the surround of applepie.

baseball frisbee and basketball. tanned girls in white visors and jean skirts. flip-flop sounds make the percussion, the grass with wind through it sings.

so much. tied to the clock in the classroom because you can feel the warmth seeping in through the walls, you can feel the sunshine like a superhero trying to pry the roof off and let itself in -

to defeat drudgery.

and onward! but this time, running!

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�SEH