she's miss tennessee, and she's gorgeous as the morning birds.
she said, sometimes when i see them together there is something about her that is very blatantly what he said he would like me to be when we were together.
for instance. her hair is up, a messy short ponytail that slightly moves with the bob of her long legs when she walks. for instance. the pale blue, khaki, or grey shorts donned on warmer days. (you never wear shorts, he said to her two or six times. i guess i just don't like them much she'd reply, as the silence after her pause was filled up by a shrug 'that's weird; i-don't-know-why-not.')
a stare for a gaze away.
.
the sky in the early night was orange in the country, and
‘i am small but i was made that way for a reason’ and,
she said she could see signs of the night he died all around in the preview of thickness of the early summer air, and
you can loosen now all the restrictions and,
downtown signs flash past us like we are ghosts of ourselves the once ‘you & i,’ and
don’t worry no don’t worry about what shoes you wear and
you can let your hair fall the same way every day , and
i won’t mind if i buy a car and you fall asleep with your feet pressed up to the dash and
you can even sing me the beach boys all night long and
listen, she said, i wouldn’t hate you for it - and
i would show you all the things he missed, and
i can’t have a journal made of real paper because something shorts out in me each time i’d try and write in it, and
when the sky is orange early night enough to still see faces clearly in the halflight
whatever largerthanlife presence that made this skin and body of bone so small
will send the pain of the unknown people driving past in laser beams of heartache down the front of your chest, will fill you with everything those old slow songs of the 1950s were singing about only times 37 million ,
will make you crave the smells of life
the small things that take you back to times you swore deep into those days and nights you would never forget
.
she said, recently when i have seen you with all your friends i feel i knew you when we were both in another life, far away from this place. we were so young inside our skin, in all of the best ways. you made coffee, i would talk about riding giraffes. you had the closest clue of anyone of what made me tick and i brushed your hair back from your forehead with warm fingers while you turned in your sleep deep in the throes of dreams.
.
but when i look at you now, she said, i see only a boy of the same name.
it’s like i picked his name out of the phone book in the middle of a new city, lost in a fit of lonely madness, desperately seeking out lifeboats to all things familiar, looking up names of people into whose ears i once breathed all my iloveyous.
one day she came back from walking up the five flights of stairs and saw on a screen a paragraph that a friend had written. he said.
‘matching a matched pair like us, apparently its a given, given culture and all
we will break things just to call them broken. stained by this compulsion to ruin and name it art \ architects ache so they build \ some subdivisions no matter how much pain or planning. some ugly houses sprout up in rows…look like structures of sad accidents and broken happy plans. we named the clever chimp that picked up the first tool Adam. we pretend about the past to justify the right now. tell countless lies just to make it through each day. keep on runnin’little bunny. and my disease. such an easy disease contagious as a yawn. my why chromosome. it’s like you finally realize how lucky you really are to have had a few great heartbreaks.’
‘(i’ve told so many cities about you.)’
( - r.s.)
i bought some new shoes because i couldn’t shake the rain out of my old ones. and,
there’s always one last for-instance.
for instance.
it’s about time we all had a little sun on our cheeks again.
for instance. her hair is up, a messy short ponytail that slightly moves with the bob of her long legs when she walks. for instance. the pale blue, khaki, or grey shorts donned on warmer days. (you never wear shorts, he said to her two or six times. i guess i just don't like them much she'd reply, as the silence after her pause was filled up by a shrug 'that's weird; i-don't-know-why-not.')
a stare for a gaze away.
.
the sky in the early night was orange in the country, and
‘i am small but i was made that way for a reason’ and,
she said she could see signs of the night he died all around in the preview of thickness of the early summer air, and
you can loosen now all the restrictions and,
downtown signs flash past us like we are ghosts of ourselves the once ‘you & i,’ and
don’t worry no don’t worry about what shoes you wear and
you can let your hair fall the same way every day , and
i won’t mind if i buy a car and you fall asleep with your feet pressed up to the dash and
you can even sing me the beach boys all night long and
listen, she said, i wouldn’t hate you for it - and
i would show you all the things he missed, and
i can’t have a journal made of real paper because something shorts out in me each time i’d try and write in it, and
when the sky is orange early night enough to still see faces clearly in the halflight
whatever largerthanlife presence that made this skin and body of bone so small
will send the pain of the unknown people driving past in laser beams of heartache down the front of your chest, will fill you with everything those old slow songs of the 1950s were singing about only times 37 million ,
will make you crave the smells of life
the small things that take you back to times you swore deep into those days and nights you would never forget
.
she said, recently when i have seen you with all your friends i feel i knew you when we were both in another life, far away from this place. we were so young inside our skin, in all of the best ways. you made coffee, i would talk about riding giraffes. you had the closest clue of anyone of what made me tick and i brushed your hair back from your forehead with warm fingers while you turned in your sleep deep in the throes of dreams.
.
but when i look at you now, she said, i see only a boy of the same name.
it’s like i picked his name out of the phone book in the middle of a new city, lost in a fit of lonely madness, desperately seeking out lifeboats to all things familiar, looking up names of people into whose ears i once breathed all my iloveyous.
one day she came back from walking up the five flights of stairs and saw on a screen a paragraph that a friend had written. he said.
‘matching a matched pair like us, apparently its a given, given culture and all
we will break things just to call them broken. stained by this compulsion to ruin and name it art \ architects ache so they build \ some subdivisions no matter how much pain or planning. some ugly houses sprout up in rows…look like structures of sad accidents and broken happy plans. we named the clever chimp that picked up the first tool Adam. we pretend about the past to justify the right now. tell countless lies just to make it through each day. keep on runnin’little bunny. and my disease. such an easy disease contagious as a yawn. my why chromosome. it’s like you finally realize how lucky you really are to have had a few great heartbreaks.’
‘(i’ve told so many cities about you.)’
( - r.s.)
i bought some new shoes because i couldn’t shake the rain out of my old ones. and,
there’s always one last for-instance.
for instance.
it’s about time we all had a little sun on our cheeks again.