Wednesday, October 15, 2008

A Duchamp

The glasses. She picks them up off the floor. She puts a cigarette in her mouth. The computer on the couch. She puts on her headphones and plugs the cord into the computer. The glass of water on the floor. The bag leaning against the wall. She opens the refrigerator. She throws away some old fruit. The sunglasses on the counter. 

The jacket on the floor. She scratches her neck. The smell of rice cooking. She picks up the trash bag. She switches on the light. The bag of apples. The pen on the floor. She closes the door. Her hands smell like cigarettes. The unfolded shirt. The notebook on the table. The water is boiling. The fan has stopped working. 

One shoe is missing. The melon has gone bad. The oven is still on. An hour has gone by. Her eye is twitching. My cell phone is off. She puts on a sweater. The house still smells like rice. The odor coming from the trash is distracting. 

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