(no subject)
sending weather reports over the wires like sally tomato in harvard square -- i am both cities, the river, inconsolable, the bus stop and the one-way street. a valentine in november, pavement-bound & paper-thick, underdressed & inescapable like not even light -- the space and time between us and i have never worn a watch. & my bones ache with all eight counts, & the tourists pose for pictures and i am not lonely enough for them to look to me for love. the man behind me says "of course, you know, she was married to mahler", i sip my tea and write it down. martha graham said "movement never lies", or that's how i remember it (the man behind me says "i'm sorry i talk so much but aside from my wife i don't meet anybody", andrew bird comes on the stereo, the honey is all at the bottom) -- movement never lies, and my book is already tea-stained, irrevocably mine.