Christmas Eve

In the deep west

Geography is elastic but night has reversed or doubled itself and it is not yet late but soon it will be if I am not diligent diligent being the rudder the bow the shoe's heel and sometimes it is a memory etched on a sidewalk happy new year floating from my eves as the starlings shoot out. I have no chart on the proper way of seduction by water the low drone of an airplane fur or deep beds. I'm afraid of dogs running at me but not an ant parade or the chemistry's miracles. It's exactly unclear to me I have to admit that I am small and helpless with zero raspberry jam a tea set's small flat knife a rose patterned saucer you don't have to know me one hot second to know I am not fond of roses or rats or how they are depicted at the end holding the earth's skirt in their teeth. If I'm lucky I'll disconnect and it lasts a week for four days. There's a bruise on the back of my right hand the shape of Italy thanks to a stupid phlebotomist named HI I'M ED CALL ME ED I'M A FLOATER BETWEEN THESE CLINICS with a badge with ED C. printed on it no last real name and a cross and praying hands and a tiny crucifix and a jewelry-white-boy-JESUS face stuck with pins all around his badge strap and I wanted to ask if his decorations ever offended anyone ( like me) if he realized we aren't all Christians but his legs were so short and mine were so long that he was practically on my lap so I kept quiet while he wiggled the needle inside the vein on the back of my hand wiggled it here and there to and fro asking does that hurt yes I said and again does that hurt yes I said let's try the other hand and that hurt too but at least he drew some blood and I was able to make good my escape