The Fly

This morning I am treating myself to a wicked mocha and a chocolate croissant from Jacque Torres. It’s summer in the city. I get a light sweat going in the mornings walking to and from the train. Then a clammy feeling when I hit the air conditioning of my job. So many boundaries being crossed, family me, alone me, read on the subway me, hot me, cold me, look at the river out the window me, sigh me before summoning a bit of discipline and getting some work done.  Recently I watched The Fly with my eleven year old daughter. The result was this poem which the good folk at pioneertown just published.

The Fly

 

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