my night

I imagine my typewriter sounds loud through the walls. I like the clicking, it reminds me of a metronome or a heartbeat. Never changes, at least not without destructive interference. A baby is screaming across the street. I imagine that it is a she, probably in pink with maybe one tooth in the gummy hole that is stretching across her face. I bet she has big eyes. I do not believe that colors should relate to genders. I grew up in a family where boys wore pink and played dress up and girls ran around naked in the mud. and I've moved into a neighborhood where all of this is still true. Its 2 in the morning on a saturday and I am looking around the room for tiny scraps of paper that I ripped up out of frustration. Like all writing, I plan on taping the torn pieces back together in order to reestablish an order to the code. Chaos makes me uncomfortable. I will tell you more about myself in the future, when I learn it. or I will make it up.

My Tea Told me

" Recognize that the Other Person is you."

It was another day that started out the same

It was the third February of the month. I was waiting for the milk to be delivered. I stood by the front door, pigeon toed. The doorbell was broken. A familiar voice said something to me from the kitchen. She was chopping carrots. Every time the knife hit the cutting board it sounded satisfied.

I looked out onto Main St. it was a quiet day. There were no people to be seen, other than the shadows of widows waiting for the milk behind their curtains. Two brown street cows lazily chewed plastic bags from the overflowing trash cans. Their jaws zigzagged. Each had a halo of excited flies circling them. Like long- legged helicopters.