Monday
returned from my hideout in Brooklyn, trained in the dull rain, finished Lolita for the third time this weekend (variations on a theme)- bed is heaped with clean and dirty laundry, pink rain water light through the curtains, warbling banjo cliché'ing my moment- some bags of dumpster bread in the kitchen, on the piano, under the stove- dark tea steeping to my right. oh, the melodramas of mid-afternoon- coy like thunderclouds, interesting me in the comfort of my sometimes home, givin to me verbatim under the pretenses of mid-may evacuation. we will all leave when it is time to go.