augh.

good: neuro's medical assistant faxing referrals.
not good: stupid elevator broken AGAIN. biopsy negative, so now we're back to square one with that. today's plans derailed entirely. what to do now?

graphology

i always worry about poems.

her words are focused, precise
across the page; they line up neatly,
obeying orders, turned-out,
wrought black iron. measured strokes.

in this new world of fonts and formats
she is inked, indelible; inscrutable letterpress.

i scoop up her metal sorts and press them into my skin.

twits

( all back here. )