Red book day is that
I love this red speckled page of it already
& the new vivid grain with which the greens & blues
of my room have come through so clear in my phone, my new App-
led pictures of my room & I've got like this new palette of thought
about it all bright blue & green & grainy red. Golden bleached c-
enter light & the blue walls with the green of the crayon desk & my
books, a lot of them green & red & blue books up on the shelf above
my bed. The brown Tree that falls once & for all into the darkly stained
wood that is my room & the dark washed out look of it. The bleached out
grain of gold & fuzzy & the faults in it brightens and brightens it brightens
the blue of my walls is what it is, the faults in the fake pixel fuzzy grain, the blue
grain green in a halo around my light & around my light I'd fashioned a lamp
shade with a coffee filter of golden brown. This morning the snow, last night
this snow & this afternoon the snow through the wild open windows of my
room. Read a book about an apocalyptic road. Lately with my cans of fish
& bandit rations of beans & nuts & hidden bread w/ hummus kept cold in the
window & the tea, & it's sandwiches made over a dirty napkin with a few
spinach leaves raw & broken open a red pepper I feel like a character
in that book, holed up in my robes, my robes, same dead gray tank top
every day underneath & the blue midnight dark scarf I found in a Tree
& my dead uncle greg's dead leather jacket I'm wrapped up against
the weather in & relearning the names of things, rusty bike up the
forgotten hill frozen trees & all the abandoned basements,
cathedrals of my travels through the sober unemployable
beauty of my very own apocalypse & I am relearning
the names of things. Names like Red. Red grain—&
it’s ok. As in the food. You can have some. Take
one. Oh haha, yeah I remember you. Come in.
Can I have your picture. Sit by me. Yes.
Wow. Thank you. I feel so protected.