Counter marble tooth chip. Balsa wood stop. The face shows the day is now twenty-five hours. There is no here only there where I'd rather be but can't go. Even in bed dry skin catches. An analog clock reads twelve and dreams of the rest, so I stay. Red is long and blue is short. Black keys dream of white keys and on top of the between which is only a touching. Long is red and short is blue. Not every day wants to be a day. Like when one decides to stand on a manhole cover instead of the road.

Green is the joint I smoke every morning and the cash that buys it. Brown is the joint when I have less cash. A fence dreams of humans shearing sheep and losing count. Satellites dream they orbit without falling. I've wanted to make sense of things that are true always. I think I've always wanted to make sense. In sleep there is no escape, only inversion, at night there is day if you let it come.

I put a leaf between two skipping stones to show me if they are are flat enough to fly. The leaves are gone look they turned into lace. Flat enough and something new to sew. In the sun the tea steeps while I try to tell you that holding my own head up is hard enough. You aren't there yet, of course, but I have to tell someone.

Even though every cow has black spots and udders. Even though not all Clorox wipes have bleach. We all act this way somehow. Some reason. Now repeat. Green is I'm sorry I know he's always been mean but he's nicer than you think. The cat cowers because I thought I needed to grab for touching. My shadow. Purple is let me see the bruises I can't believe you'd do that to yourself. The first person was a needy molecule. It's like gravity the way we pull.

Good pictures take themselves out back and feel bad about lying since it's all more confusing in motion picture and even moreso as it really happens. Like when the cats were named after hurricanes but ran away when the sun was out. It beams hot on the stairs where flies are dead. Holding your own head up is hard enough, yes, but from up here light is visible.