ALT Grey Stone II, 1961 I buy tears at the store for $11.99. When I tilt my head back to drop them in, I see the bottom of God's shoes. I'm surprised by how dirty and used they are. Lately I see them pacing above me more and more. I can't tell if God is here to get me, help me, or scold me. Agnes used a pencil to score her painting, as if to fix something. Very few things never need surgery. The sky, rain, the word happy. I hold so tightly on to my pencil that I take it to sleep with me. On some days, I see a flash of light from my hand and fear it is happiness. I wave my hand wildly into the wind until the yellow pencil reappears. Yesterday, after seeing an Agnes painting in person, I decided to cut off my hand to save the pencil. It turns out my blood is white, the texture of gesso, and the pencil wasn't the one that needed saving. What happens when you're not supposed to be depressed? When depression becomes the form of your happiness? When your happiness is so sure [ran out of space]