i fail to list the proper ailments, but shake shake shake. and wait for the brewer to say it’s done.
you count my fingers wrong. you mask your mirrored phone and keep your face tiny inside it.
all the growth we’ve gone through already. it is tuesday. i am two days behind. the map of this month scrawls into the wall. a pattern of pinholes. what top to make of it. a hat.
dirt in the window combines with the screen behind it to make me think its my eyes that trick me.