We misrepresent, get iced up,
need to be broken. Can
somebody please just
break me up?
On second thought, our
job is to behave badly
in front of the door
when it’s time to
pull out the keys,
so to speak. So
don’t look so sad.
Who wants to
need more? Who
doesn’t? My job
is to be a stapler,
not a copy machine.
Or is it the other way
around? I am a human
camera with an uncertain
body and an even vaguer
body of work. I represent
the box in the attic. Never-
mind neat and methodical.
I’m not a gemini anymore,
just deep in sleepytime,
feeling pretty good to
unhappy, and vice
versa. Then
I head to
the gym.
