I walk really slowly on the road. "There are no paintings outside." But then again I have no interest in paintings. "Art becomes me or something." Maybe I walk slowly because I think I'll be caught up in something happening since I've never really wanted to be something that just took place. Often, I call myself a thing, not a prized possession but just a thing. Things usually don't give themselves up the way I do, slowly manipulated. And then after the days are over I can look at myself and the mirrors aren't cracked, just cracked with manipulation and guilt that isn't there. I sing a lot, I dance a great deal, I smile, and look emotionless. I look in mirrors while walking slowly. The swimming pools pass me as well as the trees on the sides of the roads. Something will happen tonight.

"Something will happen tonight." while the leaves pass me by and the moon glints of the shallow pools i call eyes.