So much for last night
—after *J* Blue light and piano— a tickling brook of notes— and the damn mosquito that browbeat us all night. Blue light from the window, notes by David Benoit, and our blood endowing us with life—and that nit now paused on the window digesting as I go to get Ceramics Now , an old, bloodstained issue, folded. Good morning. Pow. Here’s a wad of tissue stained with our blood that’s naught but toilet food. I kiss you in the day we’re into.