Friday, April 29, 2011

I would like to push a grocery cart through a bookstore, filling up the cart with giant sweeps of my arms, clearing shelves like a lawn mower.  I would like to hear the books fall onto the floor even though the sounds would hurt the place under my skin, under the bone and muscle.  I would like to fill up the cart until it can hardly be moved.  Then I would like the bookstore person to tell me, "Go on, just take them.  I know they will be well cared for."  They will watch me with their arms folded, nodding, before turning to go clean up my mess.

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