do you sleep with your hat on
the thirteenth trying to sit up arms around me like rope twisted into rope. i hadnt slept. he thought he was having a heart attack all night. again. grinding jaw. fast breath. water. water. i ran my fingers across his palms. i cant stop he said. yes you can i said. but i could be lying.
"existence will not stop until it gets to beauty" - anne carson
the fourteenth in the back of the bar talking about bell hooks love trilogy and doing it no justice just short incomplete phrases about how we are embarassed by love how we search for it as a means of escaping nonexistence wishing i had the database brain some of my genius friends have where term papers just slip from their mouths wihout effort. the person in the back of the bar is writing a book. as we left i said, 'i'll be sending you letters'. no one has to know when i sit down to seriously write i am surrounded by a years worth of underlined sentences, dogeared pages and stapled together receipts and flyers. i arrive home late full of bushmills and ideas. the house is full of fucking. the dog has drooled all over my pillow just too much for me to ignore, so i sleep on the couch.
the fifteenth she comes over after work to have a few beers and weigh herself. it has been almost ten years. but tomorrow she goes to the doctor and they need her weight. the beers will make it easier she says. and i try not to look at her when she takes off her clothes her body unfamiliar and failing. she had to punch new notches into her belt today. she hasnt bled yet this year. before she steps on i ask her how much she thinks she weighs. '140'.
she steps on. the scale reads '107'.
the sixteeth i drive to massachusetts with my mother. my childhood best friend is getting married. we are touring the old town before the wedding. i was in groton massachusetts from my 9th to my 13th year. i havent returned since. i play dinosaur jr mix tapes in the car while my mom picks up my books and starts reading
'why is jeeeen pawwl sarrtree writin abowt fartin?'
amazing.
i suggest she try anne carson instead.
"if i could kill you then i would have to make another exactly like you.
why.
to tell it to." -anne carson
she suggests that the reason i have been unable to have any 'successful' relationships with 'good' men is because they are all disgusted by my bisexuality but not telling me.
i let it slide. i am twenty eight and tired. i let a lot of things slide.
i was terrified groton massachusetts would be one soul robbing gated community by now. but, praises, it is mostly unchanged. tomorrow i run through the beech trees and the eastern hemlocks talking to the pink lady slippers sleeping underground the salamanders sleeping under rocks. its gonna be a corny ass day.
on saturday julie bettencourt changes her name and i cant really do anything about it. her present, a pile of old sassy magazines.
"existence will not stop until it gets to beauty" - anne carson
the fourteenth in the back of the bar talking about bell hooks love trilogy and doing it no justice just short incomplete phrases about how we are embarassed by love how we search for it as a means of escaping nonexistence wishing i had the database brain some of my genius friends have where term papers just slip from their mouths wihout effort. the person in the back of the bar is writing a book. as we left i said, 'i'll be sending you letters'. no one has to know when i sit down to seriously write i am surrounded by a years worth of underlined sentences, dogeared pages and stapled together receipts and flyers. i arrive home late full of bushmills and ideas. the house is full of fucking. the dog has drooled all over my pillow just too much for me to ignore, so i sleep on the couch.
the fifteenth she comes over after work to have a few beers and weigh herself. it has been almost ten years. but tomorrow she goes to the doctor and they need her weight. the beers will make it easier she says. and i try not to look at her when she takes off her clothes her body unfamiliar and failing. she had to punch new notches into her belt today. she hasnt bled yet this year. before she steps on i ask her how much she thinks she weighs. '140'.
she steps on. the scale reads '107'.
the sixteeth i drive to massachusetts with my mother. my childhood best friend is getting married. we are touring the old town before the wedding. i was in groton massachusetts from my 9th to my 13th year. i havent returned since. i play dinosaur jr mix tapes in the car while my mom picks up my books and starts reading
'why is jeeeen pawwl sarrtree writin abowt fartin?'
amazing.
i suggest she try anne carson instead.
"if i could kill you then i would have to make another exactly like you.
why.
to tell it to." -anne carson
she suggests that the reason i have been unable to have any 'successful' relationships with 'good' men is because they are all disgusted by my bisexuality but not telling me.
i let it slide. i am twenty eight and tired. i let a lot of things slide.
i was terrified groton massachusetts would be one soul robbing gated community by now. but, praises, it is mostly unchanged. tomorrow i run through the beech trees and the eastern hemlocks talking to the pink lady slippers sleeping underground the salamanders sleeping under rocks. its gonna be a corny ass day.
on saturday julie bettencourt changes her name and i cant really do anything about it. her present, a pile of old sassy magazines.