Today---

- lock me in a room, where all I have is my paper and pen.
Lock me up in a room.
Where I have to scribble words on paper to earn my food.-

REACH across a table full of bread with broken words and watered eyes. A slight strum of the viol�o makes their heart pump once more. Your food is great, but I can taste the pain in your legs. Work all day and walk all night. Hands lost to the sea of doing. Busy bees and laborer ants, we all have a place to turn the gear.

Stretch myself through triangular holes. Split like gelatin glass, reflecting a rainbow.

Cut out the gutter in me. The sewage that doesn�t move. Taste it in the back of my throat. Swallow hard and spit out thoughts. Scrape out the stale paint and coarse wire hairs. Gack and glack to peel it off. Cut out the repetition of floating boats gone bad.

A second too close to going crazy and where does trash go?
Constantly recycled, then left to grow, reused, nothing is ever really gone.

Wishing for it to go away. I�ve sat on this box for too long. Like a can of springy snakes ready to jump. Or a suitcase too full of unwanted articles, pins and needles, hair slime and chewing chalk.

Pull around my neclace clasp and wish for health inside and out. Clear away the residue, to make room for air space, new.

I will invent a zapping device to zap away at that crumbled trash, and flashes of the past that knock at my feet. Scuff up my shoes and make me walk off beat.

Turn up the heat and boil away at the hidden tape worms and invisible creepy crawlies in my hair.

The water is not red. But my thoughts have the power to make it that way.

How to wash in blue, with crystals soft on my pores. To really say I�m beautiful and believe every letter.

How to live a life of unspoken solitude, and not need another�s touch to heal my wounds. How to make my touch, be the best touch, for me. To walk, truely alone with my head up high, knowing I have my own army behind me.