I wake up way too late on an October Sunday. The sky is the color of unmarked cemetery slate. I microwave some leftover coffee. I did some laundry. All my socks have holes in 粗m and I keep forgetting to have breakfast.

Between loads, I take Murph out. She harasses pigeons and tries to steal their bread. And I watch the last strident leaves giving up brittle branches.

I’ve lost time. Or time has lost me. The color of dull lasts all day. October grisaille colors the world, or rather steals the color from everything. I need color-safe bleach for my life, for my heart. All of my laundry products are so colorfully enthusiastic: Tide, Cheer, Bounce.

There must be some color somewhere. I need a fauvist’s heart.

SS