Insomnia Diary

Mortal shower

Mortal shower I met my butt in a Pittsburgh hotel room. My face still looks like my face but not my butt, my hair no longer resembles an ad for Jell-O pudding, people thought it was chocolate pudding for years, so thick and rich.There was fog in the bathroom and then not fog, I faced my face and then not my face, the mirror staring at my ass winked at the mirror staring at my face and the future was defined as an effort to use the word sag in my resume. Have sagged, will sag, am looking for a position in which to maximize my sagging potential. I once cared what went on back there, about the extent of grip and rise, just as some birds crave  the reddest plumage, and I propositioned mirrors, watched women’s eyes follow, turned in shop windows to see if my pants fit their purpose.Then love and car payments, love and the sofa needs to be moved, love and her grandmother dies, my grandmother dies, love and she comes home and I’m thrilled by her coat and voice and the brown habit of her eyes. She likes my ass and lies about its travels, how it’s lost focus, and there are wattles to come, please God if dentures only partials, may Depends be cheap in bulk and the earth generous with its telepathy, I’m in Pittsburgh tonight and with her, mirrors don’t scare me, room service is a gas because she’s alive, I’m a giant, a tight-assed titan because she’s alive and says come home, the Honda needs new brakes, a robin flew  into the window today but shook it off, just dizzy, stunned by reflection.  ...