mercury

poison leaks in like noise.

I polished my table this morning, changed the sheets on my bed, did a couple of crosswords. It was a practical and useful morning. In developing a new routine, I fail to remember all of it's components. Then, around one or two, I slap my head: "expletive!"

My house is a haven. The breezy rooms are filled with light and Chet Baker, a handsome man with an ear for vision. Chet was big in a Paris that no longer exists. Time, September, patterns, the details, have been showing up in my dreams. Paris was the end of my descent; I hit bottom. September has a way of doing this, showing me exactly where I was two, five years ago. Five: I was fresh and young on my way to Seattle. Two: my father was dying and I was on my way to Paris. Now: now.

Days and years and seconds passed for this moment to become and to fade.