bucketlist

I don't have enough paper to excuse myself. cricket sounds, alone on your stoop. too date to, too summer to. L H D C. I met my date's unknowing mom today. I walked into his house expecting to find nobody and there is his mother sitting stooped in the kitchen seemingly hairless with a hat & shades & cane, and I introduced myself as my date's friend and she introduced herself as my date's mom. I went to the bathroom & thought wildly of laugh-saying, Oh so you're my new mother-in-law haha but I just said Excuse me and It was nice meeting you, afterwhich I afterwished I would have said, It was nice to have met you because I think this is a far pleasanter way of sharing the sentiment. I am not mad anylonger, feeling unjustified or afraid anylonger. I was talking to Chad last night about how I worry more that I am incapable of feeling Those Feelings anymore that maybe I am trashed & shredded more permanently than I'd thought, anymore. the feeling of not feeling being sadder than any feeling. that maybe I am a sad incapable husk of humanity myself, then. I think maybe I am just losing steam on it all, on everything & maybe I get whiffs of it back often like when I realize that my date has not one but two pianos in his house. & his cat eats my dog's food & my dog eats his cat's, etc. his script on his french homework. his tall bed. underclothes, wet from river, draped about. we're both buying blueberries, now we've only too many for a blueberry pie. I'll go extra & sadly to the yuppy store to buy noodles & corn & squash for you through my hate for the place, parking my subaru legacy outback, parking my collie at the Temporary Doggie Parking Zone. walking past the old white ladies lunching with biodegradable packages. my date has dad hair, I told him there was a fine silvery one & he wouldn't believe it, asked me to pull it out to show him. now he is whitehairless. I've about 9 different pretty iridescent hairs coming out from me. his record collection endearing. there are long shoes, the kind I'd have worn should I be stretched out longer. maybe I am tired from it. in my fantasy hotair balloon basketride. in my I'll make you dinner when I get Home. in my parents' house, and they say, You don't have to leave! We like you here! in your arms & you subtle say, Don't go, just stay & live with me, with your insinuated shared invisible chuckle. I'm blowing kisses at everyone these days. Amanda zipped it away for keeps in her pocket. my date caught one across the alleyway & threw up back to me. John Shinn & Bri stored theirs away like best friends can. I can see actively the shortening of days and my dad reminds me how shitty is Boise in November, that might I just leave then? a year ago today I was fastened to Matty & Kyle & Brittany & Nickey in sweat, blood, pus... oh, tears. it's all the same to us. I quit my job in Portland exactly three years to the day, yesterday, when I quit my job here. But I was out of town on August 4, like planned. that was then, when my buckets were all full. my future was inflated, helium'd. & now it is a solid wonder, but I'm sunk at the wonder. maybe my organs have flown grown away. thought I'd my heart back by now, but it's a wash & my wickerbasket is a frayed mop & I'm moping away in my girl reflection.

the luckiest girl in the new world (3/20/08)

I just got home in perfect timing, just between rainstorms. I stopped making fun of myself and said hi to my room, in a happy tone. I found the cat, invited it in, opened an aventinus, and gazed longingly into the shattered remains of my reflection. That last sentence was a joke! I am so funny! I forgot to laugh! Not! I am laughing! ANOTHER JOKE

it's humid

it used to fuel, it is letting itself go, look at it
all shab, all grub
it's avoiding the mirror lately
it hasn't any pets anymore
everyone's in a flat great fucking mood
puddles are lying
reflections of trees
like our CITY OF TREES tattoos we're getting
it rained very early this morning
I want to know how to barometer
how to measure the letting-yourself-go
in length of body hair?
in width of copper chain stain on dirt neck?
in amount of bodyodor emanating?
in a caliper of fatroll?
I just googled the word WHATEVER
but I haven't checked the results
it's 70 degrees, 53% humidity in boise
it's 97 degrees, and only 47% humidity in new orleans
I know how to do this in the wet
so let's get it ONNNNN

one salty song for spring

The cat bats at something I can't see. Joseph says cats bat at ghosts. It smiles an uncertain smile, but most of what I'd like to say hangs in the reflection of moon against a glasspane, something that is nonexistent on this darkest clouded night. The cat scratches at the door wanting to leave, and I feel proud. The particular moon, one undoubtedly crescentshaped though haven't seen, truly, on this last morning in march, the first of the shortest spellings. One unseen by me, for the mentioned darkness above, erasing any spatterings of stars or a little slip of moon, even.

In this particular bedroom, one particular for many reasons, I can always it seems see the march moon on an early predawn morning. Usually there's a bright fog piercing softly through the mottled glass of the bathroom. Tonight is a moonless night. Though maybe is just moonless to us still it's mine I can't see. I know its pending shape so can picture it beautifully in the mind.

An upward glance. Warm brown paths unmowed, unplucked. Growth unleashes but is walked upon; the gentle fronds part. A rustle of tufted tops. Tickling a shin, grazing an ankle. Pale orange sunset over a simple hill rounded. The brain a simple patter pitter, just a dust rock skipping sidewise from beneath a meandering foot. A spray in clouds of little dirts, tiny explosions laying soft in patternless waves. A print to blow away in a matter of seconds or months depending. Circumstantially skidding softly down a slope, a loping of hands and knees operating openly. A small gash, a twig on the river. A canal, a rope tied to a tree, a wig of black lichen blowing. A small checkered warbler making a moan from a nearby branch.

Contentedness abounds