I invent a feeling. It is like stretching without touching.
It is a hum-object. A glance of light. Behind all silence:
a clicking, a swaying of eyeball, sheets of sea, star grit.
I listened to this song a lot today, "Lemonade" by Braids:
I drank some ice tea with soymilk for energy.
And then I had some coconut juice to re-hydrate.
I think that officially makes me a yuppie.
But don't let that stop you from ordering my new chapbook (see below, yo)!
Then I continued to read "Forces of imagination: writing on writing" by Barbara Guest. There are some lovely sections. But let's be honest, it is a little half-assed. It clearly reads like someone who knows she is famous and has decided she doesn't really need to finish her thoughts. But those beginnings are so good, I'll take what I can get, Guest.