washington-post-inside If I could read minds for a day
I'd read them in print
Dead tree edition
Over toast and orange juice
Letting the top corners flop like Beagle ears
The bottom edge jostling table crumbs into my lap
Thumbing the serrated sides
Ink dying my skin cells graphite.
Scrape a few onto a slide
For microscopic viewing
Bear the lens down
And read the thinks
Your mind has dyed.
