sad sappy sweet hog fiddle

not to date things specifically. i am the woman in the white rags and petticoats, soaked till beige with salt and waves foaming up my shins. sand. timeless like an engagement ring. wake up in convenience store, lots of frogs, cast in ceramic. plastic glass. border emporium, a special sign reminding the ladies to always keep the rest door closed. fishing lines. peanuts. their inventory list may teach someone to read without grammar. slam down youth on a slab, syrup it and pick the savory up with chopsticks. i am, two, tired silent sleepless shudders for hours fast inches away from revolving possible junkyard. granules shaking in between ears. born aged . if the median of the highway where the authorized vehicles only wait were the bay, all the mirrors and hubcaps would be my jewelery and i would never stop measuring distance over time, spitting out numbers with abreviation behind.