anti
I use my foot to brace my body in this slightly awkward and very comfortable position - slip, slip, almost fall - jerky motions, parallel with my usual stop-n-go clumsiness. My feet are sweating just enough to remind me of hot and sultry nights that I’ve never felt only dreamed about, like the way I dream of riding on trains and kissing strangers - perfection bottled and corked with poison enough to make you reel in pain and vomit your life stories one by one by fifteen as they spew you can’t stop don’t want to just lie there to their faces and they’d never know the difference. I forgot to mention once or twice that I have no stories I think I might want some though - you never know when you’ll find yourself in a hidden-away bar on a busy lit up street with cars and adult DVD stores and transvestite hookers you never know when a story will want to be shared over a tiny metal table in a tiny smoky room. I know enough to know that lying is a wonderful substitution for a blissful truth, like untamed notes on a lonely instrument found on the side of the street in the middle of god-doesn’t-know-where, Texas halfway away from where I thought I needed to be (but didn’t) on some highway called 90. I used to think I wanted to get in the car and drive waste gas going north south east west right foot glued to the floor maps thrown out the window - and then we did it unintentional - the only thing that made it bad was the lack of music, the uneasiness of having to lock the doors and roll up the windows unable to get resolved by the soothing tunes of some drunk bastard singer and his trusty old guitar or the bouncy vocals of this one kid from Nebraska[This is getting to me - the too-free-form poetry, ‘cause that’s what this is, didn’t you know, run-on sentences that really aren’t anything but vomit in themselves - the words they crowd the screen as the fingers they hit the keys in succession - they crowd my over-full mind but damn - you need to read this aloud.]yesssss