of an ideal of perfection is equally and concurrently liberating and scary
but the older I get the more I see the possibilities contained within the mistaken, the broken, the misshapen and the downright ugly
maybe because I have to
nonetheless, in the mess and the lack of punctuation, under the dust and dog hair, in the grit and the mud and the blush and the sweat of it and the tumbling incoherent words of everything
and all of it
so, (and) you should never start a sentence with that word, don’t you know?
so, today I may have taught a class with all of the above. And ketchup round my mouth.
and teeth on loan like overdue library books