i'm dreaming of hungry tigers, teeth long and yellow, soft gorgeous fur. i'm waking up to bad news about bombs and dirt mixed in with blood and tears. and the tongues wag and the heads keep bobbing. i step outside to the beautiful sunday morning, how many grams have we lost today?
i'm part of this great machine. i put in the token, pour in the laundry soap, i watch the clothes busy spinning, contained agitation...a concentrated me. i notice the muddy floors and the dirty little cloth to wipe things down. i see the bags of dirty laundry and no helpers to sort them out. i stand by the window and watch the man in the middle of the street selling sunday's newspaper, i jiggle the tokens in my pocket and wonder how much they weigh...
the sun is beaming through but i can't quite shut out the clouds. the profound sadness that lays dormant is shaking it's head and clearing the dust from its eye corners.
i chop the veggies, saute the garlic in olive oil...i eat and drink and wash and dry and feed and put everything away, a fake sense of order just like folded clothes and smoothed out bedsheets, their four corners tucked in 'til the next time.