I keep on having dreams you're talking to me about grace
and that I'm falling you
following you around from room to room
Always your head, the back of your head for sure
Always your slow stately bringing it up
like the notion of grace stuck in you repeating
or you secretly seek my advice on it
and you haven't anyway to work yourself around it.
I am also in a boat
in a cockpit
in a mall
in s america
and I can see your face as the back of your head slides around.
I am not a pretty girl
I am not intended
I wait for summers to come
I wait for bad news
I try to get some
I try to wait
but I haven't any patience.
I wake up with kafka, breton, sanford, nelson, even nin
but I haven't swallowed anything, still just still just still just.
I got a sunburn, I want to pretend it's a cinnamon tan
I asked my friend if he wanted to get a manicure with me
because he always says he wants to do that with me
he paints his beautiful gold nails
like chitinous beetles
but today there's nothing I'd less like to do than that
like normally
like acetone
like $$
like filipino muzak
like a woman holding my hand, not speaking to me
like all of the problems of our national celebrities
like the stars are just like us
they bring their own to-go jars
they secretly compost in the bushes
they drink stale coffee
they drive home drunk
they wake up and write bad poems
to prove that they are bad, or that they're helpless
like I'd rather peel my skin off
peel my hair out, have a happy saturday
a good may
a pretty week-end
partysoul
throw yourself a soul party
maybe I'll get all high on drugs or something
or maybe I'll be a yuppie
with a shaved border collie at the farmer's market
in swedish clogs
just like the stars when they're just like us
or maybe I'll be an artist
I'll throw up on my nostalgia
and my sentiment will break me out
I did throw something away, you know.
It was a baggage tag for an airplane flight
it said 28 November 2006 on it
it said C A's name on it
it was from the last trip we ever took together, we went from Chicago to Montana
I remember it was 9 degrees when we left Montana
and we listened to Music for Airports by Brian Eno while we waited for the plane to come
and he took photos of me sleeping on the airport floor.
Apparently I'd been dragging that baggage ticket around with me for 6.5 yrs
I'd say that's pretty fucking impressive, Molly Stoddard
