2004-01-01 - 4:48 p.m.
the time of year
as our birthdays approach
objects arrive as if wrapped in fluff
conversely the beeping of the telephone seems to echo and project sharply, someone across town jumps awake only to be lulled back by the soft sounds that wash the edges off our days
wounded teeth
poison grooves in my tongue
things quiet down and the signal comes clearer
you are about to be born
