She is laughing,
Her eyes disappearing into her face
Like animals into their burrows.
It is funny to her,
That I am flawed: That I can understand
But not comprehend.
I speak to her with my
Flat Southern Drawl (Immediately Stereotyped- A cartoon of myself)
And wrestle with sounds like ‘tshahi’.
The trouble is that I
Always understand what she says, and without me
No one else would.
If there is a special Hell for writers, it would be the forced contemplation of their own works.
-John Dos Passos
Friday, February 16
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