Sunday, May 03, 2009

Old dust

Dancing with millet, soft in a plastic bag until it spills onto the floor and then it’s just something else to stumble over. The massage hairbrush: when everything inside your head is on the wrong side, whatever side that is, but you can pull it up and out and then your voice changes all corners it gets bigger in the delivery but deeper in the cracks. Everyone, everywhere, everyone everywhere is watching, watching and waiting. For the way your head rolls and rolls: someone, please stick a foot out before!

Except that it’s airborne, stairs worn -- it’s not as interesting to look in the mirror as it is to look outside like it’s a mirror: stop scaring me. There’s a way to step without rolling, that’s the way. Eventually this hurts more. This is me, this is me in the coffee grinder. I don’t use it for coffee, I use it for peanuts -- allergies everyone loves, and you flip: you flip for coffee, you flip for peanuts. It’s new. You’re news. You’re an investigative reporter on the wrong side, the side everyone wants. It’s a make it, break it story. You’re not going to tell. The difference between old dust and new dust, why is old dust so much dustier?

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