WA 6 Rough Draft

I am a little girl who lives in a loft with a closet full of cashews. I am enlightened. I stare into the eye of God. Omni present and all knowing. Unblinking. As a towering ginger, I masquerade as a tiny dancer, frozen, begging, watch me move. I can dance- down the stairs wearing my only pair of black pants. I don’t wear a watch, but there is a silver spoon hanging from my neck. I am tiny again, a victim (of euphoria). A growing and shrinking Alice in a modern world. As I walk, translucent light solidifies, bouncing between mirrors and becoming trapped. Alive, I am in intense rapture. Men seem to pluck it out of the air before it reaches the people tilting their heads, and keep it in a paper bag. My heart is not the only place that’s bleeding. I can run wildly and never go anywhere. I see through the laws of an old camera, filled with memories of low steps and parakeets. Would you like a cup of tea? It doesn’t matter now that study doors are always closed. I flow like liquid through the streets, and call out over the heads of less happy people, what time is it? Someone from the corner of half a block a way calls back, four forty-eight. There is always time for dancing. A secret. Sometimes when I am alone, I can see my sister’s twin. Alone. And pumpkin pie reminds me of you.

A postcard of a surfing koala and my hair are the only verse in the white, white room.
Only when I pass the window can I see myself over the tiny shrubs, stationary.