The coffee door squeaks and house drafts open as I read from the corner table cup and cream a book. “No words were ever spoken” on the radio airs from the station to the air and airs etcetera. Coffee to the lips, caffeine to the brain. Observed smile quiet now a dream (paper napkin), her voice: “Mommy, Tell-me-a-riddle” garble (Gombrich Art and Illusion, “guided projection” hermeneutic fills the gap) hearing it aside a child amused but they’re not I think her very words. “It just works out that way”: inadvertent lady. Radio noise reappearing, melody in maroon, dis- appearing, news: the president, asked to clarify, said his words speak for themselves. But who sings “It could happen to you” (a thrill) when it’s an instrumental, alluding to the tea wall of box brown of warm refill, Coffee to the lips, coffee to the brain.
28 December 1976