17.

and it just makes me sleepy, accordion fade out, we're
on a xylophone now, he brings the thunder, click, click, I'm
typing, writing, flushing out the words as they occur it's a
slippery slide out (and in) as the wind instruments enter
click click. click. the notes rise and sink and double rise while
voices are outside and threads to the left center stage, very
middle of my book, look, six white stitches. A family. My
family, holding these pages together. Too tired to think the pencil
is just finding ways of falling, winding down as my lap is a
slant in this carpet chair, Woody's right in front of me serious click
click as we bathe in piano from Amelie. A cute word, this little bird,
so attractive, his laps and jaw and warmth. The accordion is back and
according to this page I hope it don't don't (don't) rain next
weekend, so we can bike ride to the beach. Sounds like an organ
now a pause between clickings. Reread. Tinkering. Fabric mouths
dark lilac on my thigh. Bike riding by.