Sunday, April 6, 2008. Where does your bite land? Is it laying light on your tongue? Or, do you grind down molars in your sleep? Mine changes everyday. This is your morning wake-up call.
(Computer cord wrapped up on the floor mistakenly splattered in green paint. It is dry but can't be chipped off.)
I emptied my room of everything but my mattress stretched out in the center and computer keeping the place from getting quiet. I stalked out in the morning, buying brushes, stealing tape. I chose colors from plastic squares laid out in from of me. Green with grey like leaves muddied from puddles moved by the wind. I collected cans and walked them back to my room, popped open with my screwdriver and dipped my black brush into the lake. I held my wrist up inches from the wall. Wake up.
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