saturday:

another in the long series of goodbye letters
finger grated on the fancy new grater
brown spots under the leaves of one of the oncidium orchids - do I cut it, is it too late?
pain all through meditation - in the front of my neck, as though I'm being squashed, in the middle of my back like a hinge on my spine
dancehall hip grinds, everything opens
beautiful rageful poem from a student
I read my own poems, too quiet, nothing lands anywhere
wild christian woman comes to witness, speaks about her different path, her time volunteering in Israel
George Trakl in the cab on the way home with groceries, I'm full of rage, can't bear sitting there, but nothing to say.