pi & anne

The wasp sting in my neck, on that hot day at the zoo. So that's how it is. Something touches my skin, and I reach for it, and then there's pain.

tongue stone
cracks
in the fossil self

The phone rings. Not answering the phone, not slipping into the rigid web of duty and shame, the crinoline of despair. I let the answering machine do what it doesn't. It works. It hurts, but less than. Think of the wasp. Press both hands firmly to your ears. 

as if as if  is
eine pusteblume...
old soul child

since having left for good care the vacant spot