I touch my anger and it is an apple. It is a heart. I touch the heart of my anger. I light the lamp inside the seeds. In the lobby, I wait out the dedications they make to uncle don. While my kid cries in the lobby. The apple is an orb. The light sinks in. Apocolypse is nigh I think, 2 days later, riding into work. Riding on my anger into work and locking the doors with a little beep.
I am going to kill all these birds with my uncapped chimney.
I am going to kill it today.
I am holding patterns for several soon-to-be-sewn books.
I’m incredulous with my husband because he hates no part of himself, his life, nothing.
I think there’s no one with me in anger. I could call my mom but I don’t want to.
She doesn’t hold the phone to her mouth so what she says muffles.
There’s not a lot of
emails this morning. Nothing
rhymes & Ballers sucks.