chilled and stilled protoplasm

Chilled and Stilled Protoplasm

I leaned back, lost in what had happened out by the field

to us. I thought with my tasteful hat I could have passed for

too many years stuck in nowhere with nobody to blame for it

when I'd thought, yes, this is what I want--but I'd think of the

piece of that wallpaper, put it in my bag, and stepped back to the

bedspread, which bloomed all over with huge blue orchids. The

fatigue was more familiar than names and faces

and their bacon-greased ponytails when one came

clogging the culverts, the mottled trunks of sycamores

smoking a cigarette. Beyond her, the sunlight glinted off

the tears run down from my eyes.

Tears are running down they're all running,

addicted to a certain kind of sadness.