10 August 2021

What is going on isn’t naming it in time. In timing it is dressing it. Nails on the hardwood floor designs on it. She is pregnant and she’s taking pictures down. Her camera is not her phone. She’s outside looking at it what she’s looking at. Clearing streets for parking.
He played the guitar. One noticed that it was a sonnet. The sound of the motor rattled windows. Variation on a piece of choreography for fighting spirit life. Distance from the setting sun for me. Breathing was relieving some of it.
She was into candy. Flossing after meals. Knocking on some doors. Heads were blown away. Dust on top of it. Going out into the cold covered streets a worry. Ice and air. An object of desire.
Make a thing of it and stare at it until you do believe in it. Vivid and opaque in its holy sleeve transparent. Nouns loosely spoken of as from another place. None in class today. A nun in the doorway looking.

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mjbwriting

I am mjboyce, author of 2 novels: Monkey & Anderson (Pedlar Press). Working on my 3rd novel & a book of poetry (sort of). I also make photos & music.