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I sit here after a day at work that gave me a whole host of symptoms for which I don’t feel old enough to deserve. My wrists and eyes and back all hurt, and it’s making me squirmy, like I need to be one of those people who work on a giant beach ball. Also, reading student writing made my brain hurt sometimes, and the brainstrain isn’t going away. Maybe I can poem it away. Unfortunately, because of all the catching up I had to do, the only poemy thing I thought all day was “wear more headscarves”. That was really more about looking more poety than actual poeming, though.

I do have something I’ve been spacing out about all day, but it’s pretty cheesy. Maybe I can uncheese it? Or maybe it’s just a day for getting on with it and not being attached to the outcome (thank you, Kally).

The Gorgeous Mundane

The slipping vision during work time, in an abduction of reason by the dreaming brain, the playful brain, right over left, or vice versa, of a first pair of glasses with giant green frames unfolds from there, into “how near and farsighted our worlds two gorgeous orbs, one smaller and darker than the other, a speckled pane of colored glass, and the smaller one is the gorgeous mundane. The same damn wish to be a painter of our priceless humdrum, I would paint you the rusted barbecue and rotting fence around the garden with the grape vines on it that never get grapes, in a soaking palate that would remind you of a day when nothing really happened. You would tell it, the memory remade by the story, each of us rooms with bare planked floors in a giant house of words where we go peeking.”

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There was more to that, which might’ve made it make more sense, but I have to give up. Or my back does. I really liked the word gorgeous tonight. gorgeous. Have a gorgeous evening.

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