1.

I don’t believe you. At least I didn’t, didn’t believe in you yesterday, when you first occurred to me, floated one eye up in the aether of my senseless touch.

Today I’m tired, it feels like you’ve gained some ground, like my disbelief is going to be something I need to maintain rather than a simple state I’m in, a way I tend.

So I’ll remind myself what I meant, the formula’s intent: it was never to question your existence, it is the reality of you that doesn’t ring true. You don’t feel right, right?

The way you feel is wrong. Not wrong like I feel today: out of place, tired, upset. That’s how I feel so if it’s wrong it’s the right kind of it. You it’s like you don’t feel. You just float there in the broth, a little more salt, dead cute thing. Dead cute. So cute I could eat you.

Is that the kind of wrong you are? Unkind enough to take me literally?

The cat sat on the mat.
The writer put pencil to paper.
The head is boiling away.
Morning has broken.