they pulled my hair at charm school.
they
stole my guestbook during
rolecall.
this isn't the countdown, surely! + August 17. 2003 = 7:56 p.m.
+ in the half-light the furniture looks hungry. the tabletops want something from me, the chairs are begging for forgiveness, and the carpet is crying over the chemicals it ingested this afternoon. earlier, flipping through records i found something by the chipmunks. something that had to do with "urban cowboys". i didn't put the needle on the warped black plastic, but if i had, i would have chosen "mama, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys". flash of a memory involving my little sister, her cowgirl boots, bright white nightgown, her unruly dark hair. my uncle mike: a vison in a bright red sunburn singing this song to her in early 1980something. + on wed. night i sat outside and fell in love with thom yorke's long pale fingers on keyboard keys. friday = the purple bloom i ripped off from a neighbor's tree en route to amelapay's birthday dinner. saturday = hours and hours and hours searching for a suit for the beau for upcoming weddings. sunday= the leisurely reading of the nytimes on a park bench near a green vw with a dysfunctional alarm. am fascinated with idea of dark manhattan bars lit by candles, yet confess: must have been a bitch to try to get back to brooklyn, nj, or ct. + all the summer hours are erased too quickly. keep checking invisible wrist watch and bemoaning their fate. have you read this by a.m. homes?
prev/next
class
notes, file of pom-pom
ghosts!
