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I was born in the canebreak.
J'ai été immédiatement frappé. The sky was grey.
We had made vague plans to sit down and speak.
But we felt trapped and sorta creole. And a leetle pidgin.

We met by chance in a morning of stars following the recesses of breakfast nooks of the Biltmore, in what ran up against me like something like a scene of a film, infinitely in a mode early of morning, scrambling by the continental breakfast shake, balancing the coffee and all of the bagels and the menacing towels, with the paper of morning remplié, a treat, not a treatment.

Multiple awakenings, all mired in direct phrases. In the future, many of us us should speak more intensively. Lest it disappear out of the door, I dreamed, as meticulously as possible, how it could mess up our wan tomorrows.

Yes, it was an incredible loss, and with an obvious weakness for brilliance, control, & amping; verbally gifted chick butoh dancers notwithstanding.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

My boyfriend sez cooking is my trump card.
The moon was blue. My eye: not yet black.
The night: long. Moi: Forsaken. BAM!
I was immediately struck by the dawn.

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