Dirty wall in the ladies’ bathroom near the light switch. Childrens’ hands. Wondering if I should call my brother. Wondering too long is never good. Stomachache. The regular diary. The jotting. The tendency. Dependent origination. The chain. The wrangling. The striving and the letting go. The seeking a rhythm. Child’s voice behind me. Heater ticking. Draft consistent. Periodically there is a sound of wind.
Tag Archives: detachment
Nothing left to say to you. This is how it feels—a ragged stomach-hole. Some kind of pressure. Some bit of proud that he’s so uncommon. Some bit of fear. Some bit of panic, that I just want all of this to go away and that (my friend), detachment. Hard-hearted. Fuck. Jesus Fuck.