Beauty on earth so blue, even the cheese flowersa culture with no democracy... Yesterday (for example),I ate the same sandwich I eat every week: eggplantroasted in red pepper aioli, a focaccia jammed fullby arugula, capers sweaty in browned butter. Howhave I come to love routine? I’m thirsty and abashed.The fabric of my childhood underwear triple axels in the wind—wow.The whole neighborhood watches me do emails, go to therapy: she shed

revenge for forgiveness. I said it, “i forgive you” slippinglike a key beneath a door, where never was a house attached.Is it beauty on earth, so blue? Each side stalled, you are touched,forstanding the sun. Its fat macula borne down grips(i wish! i saw! i fear! i heard! i dream) like an emotion.This is not a feeling. This can be, I think, a conversation.