In spite of all the regularity of my habits, i cannot
become rooted in this world. I will always find it
a shock to step outside, a bewilderment to rise,
a lostness to be among people. And i think by
now it has nothing to do with being loved, or not
being loved.

' "the sun that shows itself is not the real sun. '
--Dennis Tedlock's tr of the Popol Vuh

I heard plaster crumbling from the hole above
the door (paper on the carpet amplifies every
bit that falls) & this time, unlike when i hear
it in the night, i was able to see what makes
that sound. It was a four inch roach.