Wood seemed to mean something. I prefer a cover for the floor to foster integration of the accidental soil that oftens there. Likely brought by Magi on their focus visit to discern one tiny thing. My lower back feels lower than it's felt in days. A neighbor who uses illness as a point of linkage asks how my arthritis is. I discourage any inference that my case equates to even half a case. For I'm in general a pillar of good fortune and good health. Each night about this time there is a knuckle cracking sound that's centered on our rooftop as though someone pressed a foot into a brittle part. Now there is a man shouting directions to the night. For a moment, I turn down the air-conditioning. His voice ceases; I begin to chill the room again. My sentences that used to be in shards like being spoken whole. The matter of them teaches in whole language. A teacher accidentally of my acquaintance typically preempts the other half of conversation and lies down beside her own soliloquies. When it is dark, the rumor parses everything we know. Offers a string of intervention so the supplicants will easily quintuple in the daytime. Factor in the earnest-seeming ones who come at night to edges and request to have bequeathed to them unreasonable fractions.

Hardwood floor versus a soft place to lie down

Sheila E. Murphy | Something to Show
Contents | Mudlark No. 8