i approach things and think about them.
then i do things to them.
then i'm tired, it gets dark; and then i go away.

ann beattie eats an apple.
she puts a spoonful of almond butter in her mouth.
she chases the almond butter with lemon snapple.

i'm awake, i do laundry, and
the stupid yellow thing comes up.

okay, this poem is not about a relationship.
i have a journal filled with faded words in pencil.

i'm in a box.
my brain releases something into my flesh.
a dog comb floats.