Fall Notes

Sometimes fall means extra drags on the inhaler at night. Also spring, and balmy early advent afternoons. Maybe it's anytime the seasons change. Anytime the night temperature is drastically different than the day temperature. The shuffling of new schedules leaves a sticky film of dander and pet saliva over every flat surface. And I can't quite breath. And the night is measured in trips to the back pack where I keep my bright red emergency inhaler. Maybe it's nerves. Back to school nerves. Sleeping for a few hours slightly propped up against the wall to avoid that dull upper right quadrant fall pain. And I wake kind of early with burning eyes to read the handouts on dialectic Marxist Delillo theory. And the wheezing subsides, and the coffee perks. And I gaze intermittently at the first degree thumb tacked to soft cork above my desk. And I feel the unlived years of my life extended far ahead of this place. But, still. Wondering. Other people, other people have fuller lungs and sharper brains. Wondering. Can they see me? Across the classroom, squeezing my own face into focus. Can they call my bluffs?



Nothing to do but write. Tap the keys while nobody's home.



~Skin & Toast

Fall Notes

We keep our printer in the kitchen
on top of a pink filing cabinet next to the litter box.

There is no tray.

The pages bounce down on
to the brick red tiles like mercury.

Smudges and cat hair on bone white drafts.

And I think, someday there wont be any marks. Someday the pages will be clean.







~Skin & Toast