looking in all the places i'm sure not to find you, still somewhat surprised by the hole swiftly becoming deeper

the house is hot, and my skin and breath are hot as i guide the heavy vacuum in long zig zag strides across the hot carpet. my sweat is hot, the air is hot, the carpet is hot. i have the impression that everything is the same temperature, except for my laterals, burning a red line down from my shoulder blades to the small of my back. switch hot hands on the hot blade, the hot knife vacuum, slice down the other side for while

slice tomatoes in the kitchen, only red things today, red wood, red nails, red sandwiches, red blood in the sink, red dream, red letter in the red mailbox, red curtain. red breath, red sky, red lungs dyed red by the red air, red skin scratched red by the red fingernails.

red intuition stops at a red light stops soft and hard and red, dies redly in the red gutter, turns black, turns ash, scatters away unwanted on red, red water

afternoon of heavy daydreams, heavy unreality. shallow loud breathing, low under the weight of the vacuum sound, droning away, swarming away to the vacuum hive, to the poison red honey, the loudest honey in the whole desert

what i'm trying to say: all this trouble for a drink, and i've spilled my water in the water.