dog_eared ovenbird If I were a book I would invite you to write in the margins. I would ask you to dip feather tips in ink and leave no page untouched. I want your words to define all my edges, the loops and curls of your hand adorning the place where self meets other. When I flip through my own pages I want to see the splashed and blotted evidence of you on every one. I’m not meant to be kept pristine. Break my spine, dog-ear all my corners, let the glue that binds me crumble to dust in your hands, start again until you know me by heart. 260221 what's it to you? who go blather from