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I'm like a line-file, anti-plural, crisp money green; superscript single with stretched C's in between. Ads retracted, I got my self-esteem. Choosing, left eye snoozing, trying to see what's right. Lost in the top of my eyelids, wondering why they haven't taken flight. My checklist, body, and ink...thermalizing patches of opinionated "ithinks". I painted myself red and called everday 0-2 fourteen...for faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. The phone rings, immediate change in the clay. Hardened, too viscous, stuck in its own way.

-Copyright by DCIS