Not a lot beyond the asphalt. Sense of heat. Some heat arising. Hot sun on my foot. Grimy hands, oil of muffin on my fingers. Ashes floating in the air. Smell—coffee roasted black. Harm. Gas moving through my pelvis. Hair strands bothering my face. Dry with work. Wet with love. Sparrow visits.
Tag Archives: face
Who are your friends?
Who are your relatives?
Why can’t there be original artwork on this Starbucks’ walls?
Why is suburban life so oriented toward the dead?
Her face made up like a cadaver.
Grammar and punctuation—I can handle it. The writing piece is challenging. I put a lot of structure in security. I feel my face abrasive.