and the who said, "he!" and the we said "she!"
I went downstairs to find something to eat. It felt like days since I had had a drink of water. The room where I had dwelled was full of objects, not all of them useful, but then again, John Stewart Mill was crowding my bookshelf solely due to my resistance of the impulse to throw him out the window.
Oh the elusive slippery film reel of happiness of one's own life, cannot be grasped through books nore music, but maybe, those same fingers, unflinchingly, bite like nails into the wood of the hearing now.
the everybody said "yipee!" and headed down the stairs.
I was there, toast in hand, mouth full of jelly, looking for the cider in the fridge when they finally caught up to me, and bit me in the ankle.
poetry and shorts on flow states of various kinds, occasional explorations into clutch states, ebbing.
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