new orleans

the universe is trying to tell me

the universe is telling, urging me

that here, it only gets bad before it gets worse

that these brainjolts are the spark

because, come on now I'm an engine

  so

let's hotbox the cadillac

let's mildly check that sunset from a cornereye

let's put those rugs we found in the upper upper cabin bedroom

  on the 200 yr floors in our new apartment

let's ride the goddam streetcar

admire the great muddy

crack exoskeletons in the dingy dim dreamed-of divebar

curtains of smoke drifting lazily

we'll sit around, sit about

we'll sit all over the place

fantasize about the escaping from city life

eating sandwiches on pontoons

we'll meet fat new bugs

and that rich-weather

the I'm-holding-you-now weather

let's choke on humidity

on coffee by the emptying

let's fishtail around the festival goers

and get wealthy on bourbon

let's get tall

taller than whatever buildings

and we'll crush the catacombs & crypts

slaughter the sarcophagi 

mush the mausolea

turn bones to dirt to under our fingernails to our mouths in our gullets

& reproduce it all through our skin

respirating 

and then we'll watch a jazz band

  and we'll make fun of the saxophone

and we'll hear some blues on the street

  and look wildly about, calling out names

and maybe we'll drown

or blow away

or 

or

or

maybe 

  maybe we'll really like it there

things we know about me:

I am 26 and a half today; it means that at every moment I come closer to being 27. 

Really, at every moment I come closer to being 28, and 31, and 46.

I have a dog. She was dirty, but then it snowed & she ran in it, and suddenly she's crystal clean.

I usually call Fat Tire Flat Tire but it's often the only beer in my mother's refrigerator. I unpacked it from her luggage; she moved the beer from california in august.

I am no longer sick.

I can wear pants, if I like.

I'm wearing these pants I got & wore everyday in london. I am wearing wool tights underneath.

There is snow & blue sky outside, and it reminds me of chicago at its wintry best. The crunch beneath my bootheels satisfies.

I am not hungry.

I am aware of my jobs.

I am ready to play pool & to drink pitchers. 

I am ready to wake up in different places, like colorado, and a tropical island, and new york.

I will paint my room the colors of the painted desert, once I have a room to paint. 

My fingernails are way, way too long.

I hold no grudges.

bequieteth

be not afraid of feeling good,
be not afraid of getting told,
be not afraid of tiring old
be not afraid of trying alone

Mine own hairs stand on end, my own endless days lengthen. My letters excess them selves and superlative the ends of wordss, I am lying, just a body with only life at the wrists and on. So the fingers, bare hands. Fingernails doing the efforts for the restof me.