Taste Nothing Waste Nothing

Kids two doors south are partying because it is a holiday.
It doesn't bother me because I am awake;
but when I had a job and woke up at seven I used to complain to neighbors
until one day I decided I didn't like myself complaining to strangers
and I had the brilliant idea to buy a package of construction worker style ear plugs.

I treat my moodiness like a bumper car,
it is inevitable, but the more foam earplugs I have, the less reason I have to be mad.

I had my first acupuncture treatment yesterday and the doctor told
me to stop wasting energy.
I am wasting energy on thoughts
While exercising gives me energy,
thinking about wasteful things physically drains me and makes my shoulder hurt.
Chain reaction from the brain to the body.

Tired all the time and not doing anything;
Building up reserves.
( Having nothing to do except laundry and dusting under the bed and typing and writing the definitions of constitutional laws repeatedly on neon color coded paper... the thing that drains the energy is the dread of studying so that I can think the way a 70 year old man wants me to think for a multiple choice test.)

The kids are talking and and their voices are echoing onto the insides of the porch roofs and it sounds like they are just outside my door.
Thinking about the activist I went on a date with in August who has a maid and wanted to write a Thank You note to the girls who made his Persian rug as we turned it over to examine each loop of thread that was hand woven. My thoughts are not sentimental, just happy to know that I could have a maid one day if I wanted to become an activist.
And one day I will have an art studio that I never have to clean up.
Because I can close the door, my love.
I had more emotion when I cut my foot on another man's rug.
It still hurts.
The shape of the glass that was in the rug that cut my foot in the kitchen was the exact shape of the chip at the top of the French press. Hmmm.
I only knew it so intimately because it was inside me.

The glass.
And the coffee is too.

Practice at Home

Made exceptions.
I get locked out in the alley wearing dressy shoes that aren't mine and a pit bull
runs up to me like a murderer and I don't have the armor
of my cell phone.

I need running shoes in a situation like this.
Fetish for leggings;
Fetish for not wearing pants.

Red ones came in the mail today.
Dressing as funny as possible.
Wearing all the colors I feel like.

The hours get late;
drinking the rarest tea in the world...
that's the sales pitch.
Turn out the lights and music up the air open the windows and light candles;
stay still
shaking
quivering all over like a tower with bendable parts.

It's over in the begining.