this week i

worked from a cubicle, published on what it has meant to close the medicare donut hole.

drove downtown, knocked on david's door, seven fifteen.  ruffles growled, recognized, broke the skin of his tail wagging against the walls, bloodstain on my chest.  marcie rolled tortillas, five of us drank coffee on the second floor porch in the summer morning, shirt mostly dry before 9 a.m. arrival.

cooked sugarless chai tea, banh mi.

caught up with ciciley, she costumed a commercial with her grandmother's pendant, left a voicemail.  well? /clears throat/ where are you? are you alive? what's happening?  we went to australia. i had kangaroo. they wouldn't let me take him home.[eom]