I have spent so much time in front of pale white washing machines. All I have to show for it is sore feet and a tendency to hum in-key.
I found a pen on the ground with a plastic fairy on it. It was pink. I threw it in the garbage, with all the other half-finished meals, thoughts, plates, stories about black pianos, rebellious mothers, short shorts, dressing rooms, bedrooms, mysterious odors you find in locker rooms, farts you conceal by talking more loudly than you normally would, and other things I couldn't bear to keep.
It was taken to a landfill and piled up with everyone else's daily outpouring. That's how things work around these parts. Don't you dare keep it.
I listen to the heater turning up to cook the bacteria that exist.
As the warm water caresses my hands, I think about kingfishers.
Have you ever...been told something you didn't quite understand?
Have you ever spent so much time looking for meaning without realizing that meaninglessness is more meaningful than any other meaning you might come across in your wanderings?
Have you ever taken eighty years to say one sentence?
If so, my friend, stand up now, remove your clothes, and wait until midnight for them.
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