Rickety Press

Rickety press wears wooly clothes and smells of salami.

Rickety press wears dim lights on a Sunday night and sounds like cards raining on the floor, like James Hunt walking in a hospital, like blue eyes.

Rickety press makes the noises Sunday needs to cover the pulling of the tides revealing the shores of the finishing week. And in its withdrawal the dawn of memories that are rising like the yeast that makes the bread of people one carries in his tommorows . And it's only a room. And it’s only a universe. And it doesn’t know me.

And on a Sunday night how soothing that is.