Two rejection missives from a small literary journal no one has ever heard from and a cup o' coffee....

...is how I begin my day. My body toddling across the academic soil where I work weird hours during interim session, clad in the shirt from last night that she told me to wash because of the maroon oval imprints of her lips still bitten into the collar like a crimson welt from my chin--like in late 80's movies where the husband who is having an affair always swipes his collar with his thumb before he fishes around the interior of his ash tray for his wedding ring. It feels like it is 10 degrees outside and the emerald aproned Pharaohs at Starbucks inquire why I am bundled up, looking like an out of work eskimo as I try to resuscitate my vision and smile, leaving to go work 12 hours, proof-reading my brothers manuscript, anticipating the nest of her limbs, her smile, her face.....