Accidental for JJoni Wallace
Some mornings I lie in bed with a stranger, daylight slat-shot through shutters. I count words between light-lines, my secret eye exam, x-ray, bedclothes, my template. I can’t remember if the clock chimes anytime ever. Today I’m dressed like Christmas, I’m lit, I’m drinking Red Rockets and oh how they glare. Here is where I was sitting when I thought of you. Here is a picture, reversed.
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