a new light outside my house to keep the cats in the sun

2003-12-28, 1:25 a.m.

this is the crack in my windshield, telling me i cant see more than 30 feet ahead; no need to worry though. something is saying this is your day, thrown into the air and chopped into bits, so infinitely small, they are abrassive to my skin (oh the way i could shake that feeling away, or, in haste and disrespect, to rip it off my skin).

im staring into the folds of clothes, burning glow on white, sparrows of shadow flying south on my sweater, and i can feel their wind against my chest. that is the time, the only time, when you become honest. standing in the ceramic basin, dripping wet, the thoughts are true, resolved paintings of your life, but they lose the echo of a song or a whistle. that's ok, because if we all could stand before each other, dripping wet and unclothed, truthful and absolutely sincere, the surprise would be gone; longerie is excitement for the mind.