they pulled my hair at charm school.
they
stole my guestbook during
rolecall.
it's a deep dark well + September 30. 2005 = nerveless
view of buildings & rooftops & sidewalks feel harder now that's it's all chilly & fall-like. lately, angry at whoever pressed the play button on the bad dreams/hair falling out tapes. most unruly & treacherous. it's like forgetting to take out those stick pins after you've sewn up the holes & then finding them at night in your blankets. p i n p ri c k e d nerve endings.
M. on W 57th St kept asking me: do you like poetry? do you go to poetry readings? and i kept saying: um, no. not anymore, really. that was a long time ago. but that "with at ten-foot pole" by robert mezey in the new yorker really
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ghosts!
