#64

Like a little boy I am. BRB. Sweater, your hands, hair. What one calls negative affirmation. I gathered books and read them while a woman's dog sniffed at my shoes. I thought, Adrian is writing a novel. Tim is throwing a party. Leaves were lifted, spun and seen. A minature plane across the dabs of cloud in sky.

Masculine/Masculine the title. Change it: epistemology. "How Should I Know?" A political aesthetics in essay form. An aesthesia. My not so little joke. A hand instead, on thigh, and up. Fingers. Micah storms out of the shop. In front, a man on computer: "I want to be an architecht," he types and then erases. I want it to rain.

I am thinking of a Renaissance artist. The difference between "suck" and "suckle." Her hair is long and dark. What of it? Motherhood is solitary, my counselor says. I shouldn't take it personally. Andy-Pandy-Pudding-and-Pie... Use that somewhere. Not to his face, of course. Better for Benjy perhaps. They can have him. Do-do-doot do-doo. Yes, it's a grave, you know. Leave flowers there. Like a harried beast I am.