Day 43

I'm thinking of two thirds of nothing and putting less together than that.  The sum of my total parts is more than it used to be if you ask a scale or the things I've removed from a resume, but it's less than the projections so if I were a betting woman, I'd say this is not a stock likely to skyrocket.  The flitting of my mind alights on your lashes, doesn't stay.  Blood and guts and sinew and gas and nerves float bump into each other, don't stay.  Nothing is as solid as it seems.  Seams hold patchwork thoughts till night.  Nightbright insomnia waves it's hand byebye.  I spy with my little eye, aye yai yai, sweet spaghetti slurp.  Missing teeth, missing piece, peace-loving space.  Sticks and stones do indeed break bones and rubber baby buggy bullets bounce on my knee.  Pulpits and poets standing and swaying in breezes and hazes.  Wheels pedal over stacks of petals, piled neatly in a row.  Kneeling at the railing, a ballerina goes gazing, a cup of tea and honeypot bellied pig on rye.  Order me a list of tasks, hut two, four, ten.  Integers and negatives of photos fake friendly in a sigh.  And before a sister makes her maker, just so bye and by.