one long string from the ceiling down to the beam, lit up like the smallest neon tube.
the reflection chases the light backwards- a yellow white pulse thats bent through the living room windows and sent seesawing away across the ceiling.
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it had rained for close to 3 weeks up until then, at least every other day, more often every every. that day was the second day of bright sun and summer's other late arrivals, probably the first day i really thought about it. also though it was the first time i found myself at that angle, feeling the hairs on my neck against the short carpet. definitely the first time i'd looked up at the ceiling like that, tasting my own blood, hearing it pump through my head like the sound when you stuff your ear close up against the pillow. pumping, the sound of vital fluids pushing out of folded up guts, in and out the tired pump- pushing up along stems of the big cauliflower brain. like a big wet antfarm.
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