Saturday, April 3, 2021

 

we didn't hunt for eggs or make a feast nor visit family. we went to my old studio and threw out my bedding and made the bed back into a couch. it still looked like i just crawled out and left it sodden with too much snackage and trails of crumby dreams. it looked not inviting but sad, it looked like the kind of disheveled nest one might find a wizened old body in. and i'm soul glad we didn't and it wasn't me. for r. who gave her patient help, and pictures, smoosh and thank ye.

 


it was just 4:44. when i vacuumed behind the couch bed i found dust bunnies and pistachio shells and a crumpled note reading 

when you are free of fear there is                                                                  the strong feeling of being good,                                                                    of thinking very clearly, of                                                                       looking at stars                                                                                            eclipsed by cloud

 

i don't know what it is or why it ends that way except it wasn't ending as it wasn't a poem, or it was a beginning crumpled and falling out of bed to languish with the dust bunnies.

 

 


 


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