when I get to heaven, I hope I can work for Safeway.
We all long to be used by God.
I have a clear idea of what it means to work. A work/life balance? What a gimmick.
God’s never heard of it. Even in heaven, people stand around and ask each other,
So what do you do?
I bag God’s groceries, that’s what. And there is shame in that. And there is pride in that.
And I have formed my entire
analog self around the job.
My mind’s representation is in uniform.
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When I can't sleep at night I like to google
How not to love someone.
I have no one in mind.
Just preparation.
I spend so much time thinking about how things are related.
There is a cloud around me. That is how I am unrelated.
No one can quite reach in through all the condensation and pull out anything valuable.
Inside everything is much deeper than it appears.
Three years ago I stuck my hand inside a frog's chest.
Three fistfuls of intestines.
When you can't get in, pound on the door.
Cement and rock.
Being obsessed with wells and ears is not all bad.
Enjoyable even - to read about.
"Your ears are showing" he said to me over the phone in a voice I'd only imagined him using on othergirls.
My hair is short now.
I am channeling energy through my hair.
Sticking my tongue in.
there are so many curves that the world wears.
Waist high and eradicated by ticking.
"why don't you just try to relax?" he asks while touching my thigh in a way I find offensive.
I fantasize.
How to make a key lime pie without key limes. Kate.
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