I discovered this box on the kitchen table this morning.
1) I love Roman keys. Some things never go out of use.
2) I love these physical puzzles.
These puzzles are such a mediative process but a bit easy.
Thanks to my man upstairs who's been dragging the night shift for 3 years. Science never sleeps.
If you like investigative reporting and being terrified read The Puzzle Palace.


The End

The evening lurched against me, dropped, and pooled at my ankles.
This is inky business. Sometimes so crushed we don't know we are in pain.
Drenched with night as I listened to a woman pretend she will continue. Broken with terror. My teeth just gritty.
She extends her empty hands and I understand her. We were both drafts.
She was never meant to be. And now. Here.
She/Who loved me.
Said. You/Who are the original. (see/who, she/who was proud of She/Me.
Almost eved at multiples. It was She/Who. Gave heart, ate heart, shattered.
What's in my/me heart I/me didn't put there.
Who/She knows that my/mine sister knows. Ask. She/Who too broken with teeth,grit.

I was skating in a memory will listening to The End by the first Goth Band, The Doors.


Bellie. 2015

Belle is ambitious and has developed an interest in archaeology.
Her recent dig went so deep I could only see her wagging tail.
In the hole she experiences rabid abandonment, a gleefulness usually manifested in a younger dog but when she was younger she was forced to be a mother at a camp.
Now puppyness is a frolicsome adventure of slinging mud about the yard while killing the hostas and gentle ferns.
There's something down there she must have possess.
Perhaps a lost marble shooter. A snoozing beetle. Certainly not a forgotten bone from the other dogs, no, they were mannered and did not dirty their paws.
When called Belle rapidly ascends, glances at the yard, gets her bearings, jumps the steps and flies through the door into my arms.
She reeks and is dirty this little smelly Bellie.