last tuesday

nevermind
what time of the day it is
what weather it is
throbbing through walls of perception


you and i are getting older


and what is that
if not a little bit of dust on a little china doll
inside the little cabinet where i hid my soul
a little bit of coffee spilled
on a little bit of white cloth
owned by a little man with an odd glare
who owns so many other things that he would never care
not even a little bit


a little bit of soup in my spaghetti
please,
to make it taste like nothing.
i love the taste of nothing,
not just in my food.