sometimes (the butcher's links)

i sleep on forest green sheets and sometimes i read last night's paper in bed in the morning, when i wake up (wheniwakeupmornings) (iamalwaysatleastadaybehindinthinkingsoit'snotsuchadisast-asonemightthink) and oftentimes i leave my sheets and blankets a rumpled mess and don't remember to make up the bed, tucking the four corners neatly underneath, until long after coffee and bathrobe and bath towels and socks and breakfast and open windows or close windows...so there are stacks of heavy thick newspapers burrowed underneath swatches of green cloth and i sometimes imagine the newsprint rubs off the sheets onto my legs and back and arms and nape of neck and that i will wake up from naps the newsprinted girl. i went to the aluminum exhibit at the carnegie museum and there were dresses from paco rabanne's 2000 collection, mini shift dresses made of small plates of aluminum linked together with rivet-type clutches...it reminded me of a very cold, slippery silvery erector set make up. i want to be pressed sometimes, too.

he got the design from french butchers from the 1930s; a company specialized in making metal aprons, resembling chain mail but of aluminum composition to make them lightweight, to prevent butchers from cutting themselves in the torso region. flat. plates, planes of aluminum linked in basketweaving ways, almost. ingenius or maybe just different, dissimilar. no, similar.

(swirling things around, gusts)