tigersaint

the twenty-third night:

i was given a bed, and even a room. the bed is soft and large, i sleep on it sideways, curled up at the foot.

there is a large mirror at the head of the bed where i have written poems along the edges in black marker. then i took off my shirt and wrote the same poems on myself, lonely and missing his work.

the first thing i am going to ask for when i have a chance is a digital camera with night-vision capability.

i want to start documenting what i do in the dark.

i have written 10 letters in the last three days. i am sending them out on cut up collages with carefully written addresses and secrets to be revealed slow with the post.