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Home Erectus Speaks Out

I get up and stumble to the coffee pot. The first thing I say to myself is my age, as if the disbelief can be suspended being half awake; the full bladder, the cold feet, the gritty cheeks- O don’t even consider the mirror, I might stumble in and drown. When did this begin, this ritual of waking to an update? Yes, I’m still seventy-one and still not used to my skin. Yes, I’m still hungry to feel, because what is life if you don’t feel? And I feel like ripping the wallpaper off, like jumping in the trees, like tasting the juices of fruits. But after ritual mathematics my mind goes to its normal home. I start sniffing around like a dog. I need an ******.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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