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I sit. I run. I clap. I walk.

He jumps. He cries. He licks. He walks.

You find a power-man. She is the power-man.

I am. I am who is. I am what I am and I am no other. It is hard being me, nobody else can do it.


She sits, knowing the cart is coming on Wednesday and she can’t make it come faster. She stands --- not better. Twittles and twinks and twabjack and jibblejar but… only the package. Wednesday arrives. She + package = happiness? No. Forgotten the next day.


The power overwhelms her. She is unready to harness the rage. It flows like sap. It pulses like heartbeats. Explosion on 44th Street.

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Cecil Bee

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