the act of seeing

Seeing. I wash the dishes and begin to deconstruct the sound of the water flowing from the faucet. The pan in my hands no longer has weight, I can no longer feel the water over my hands. Steam. I don’t blink. My gaze down the drain and the guttural noises feel as if they are emanating from the back of my head, the first shelf in my mind.

Writing. Translate this to paper. Be sure to get the shift of eyeballs rolling in their sockets. The feeling of a gaze that extends from this plane to another and back through the head and the eyes. Map this prewriting practice of losing and leaving and somehow coming back into the body to stiff wrists and eyes that feel like tissue paper. And an idea.

Starting.

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