a morning,
read. just by looking out
the small square window in the back
to see the exact pink
of the lefthand sky
is like the first few days
of your period. it's
grossly delicate.
it makes you want to
hurl a small but heavy rock.
break through the low clouds
till they're less dreamily
pale and pastel. listen hard for
the crack as it splits in two.
like when you stood on the bridge in the
middle of the coldest day and threw down a
big ass cold ass stone without even wearing gloves.
and you listened and waited for the crack of the ice
on the top of the river. but instead
it bounced.
A Morning Read: Visit the pleasure garden of the Roman emperor Caligula, where frescoes and peacock bones tell extraordinary stories.
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