give it a week

I'm actually wearing wool. I'm actually final, here. I am surrounded by the latenight drilling of the roads about. I was sad and awander, I fell into step. I felt time dally around. I make the most of it, child's bed. Make me. 

We picked up a hitchhiker, we were all going to New Orleans. Danny came back to the car and said, He's pretty dumb, but he's harmless. He introduced himself as Christopher, then interrupted himself to say in drunk drawl, But erryone calls me MISS'IPPI! Y'all mind if I DRINK? and I'm sprayed gently with beer. AW NO, this un's sprung a leak! So he chugs. He's made up a song he doesn't mind singing over and over. The chorus says, simply, and straightforwardly: Ga pocket fulla LINT. Pocket fulla LINT. Pocket fulla LINT. Danny says, Aw man, yeah I already heard this one. He puts his hand on my leg. I'm driving. Missippi ain't talking to me. He's not talking to anyone in particular. But I'm at an advantage because I've got the window down, and I'm smoking and drinking coffee. We're outside Mobile by now, Missippi HATES MOBILE, ALBAMA! MO-BILE ALBAMA CAN DIE, KNOW WHIME SAYIN?

Well, shore enough, he passed out for a spell. And we made it to New Orleans, Louisiana. Passed through & over Lake Ponchartrain and it began to rain a bit. We got rid of our traveler but he left in his wake a bottle of smartwater, empty save for the dip he'd been spitting. Bye bye.

I was worried three, four, five six weeks ago. Wondering, will I? I read aloud to him the poem I'd written, we were at the bar neither of us really likes but the one that's close, and always has an empty patio. At the picnic table. He was tired but I read it anyway. I was worried but I'm not worried anymore. I'm a weepless one, now.

I was due today

  there's a bull somewhere inside of me

  a taurus bumbling around

I'm sitting on the rock by the cabin

crept up the mossfilled footholds

tips of moccasins mashing the wet needles

slip off tread slide down.

we used to climb up here & we'd eat huckleberries

  cutest thing we ever did

we did a good job

  fell asleep in rain windows         layers in

  cotton silk wool cotton wool

    distrustful black hoodie,

it's chilling out and 

 we live on the mosquito plains

  but I'm a rockform

    tearing up  tearing down the mountain

like all the other pretended birthdays ever

a weather inappropriate watermelon beer in a colder that reads, 

  I'm still hot but now the hot comes in flashes

    

   what is virtue

   what are justices

  I wish I had a dictionary or a diary

   I wish I was another call

    I found the face.

 it's chilling out 

  on the mosquito plains

 fashion models taking some shots here

 denim + bronze

    when I'm a typographer                                 in the future

 I will design my own font

  that only gets used

   for my boutique's logo

but it will be patented

and it will make me billionz

           I'm an earth mother

        not a Typist

    especially since being always 

on the lichens, in the moss

swatting mosquitos 

pretending we were plains

but I wasn't born today, or yesterday

   there was just a broken heart drawn on my mother's baby-calendar

   followed by 5 days of things like, 

    

this baby won't get out of me

I'm tired

I'm done

this isn't working

I can't do this anymore

TOday

Luckily I got something new at christmastime, a new dress with dragonfly print & it hasn't come off since, can't. When you go to bed dressed you wake up so. Easily, with layered tights & socks kicked off beneath the soiled pink wool & soiled down & soiled 500-thread-counts. Never to sleep without someone in the proximity, but keeping a dog as a wall between he & me. Everymorning waking up before dawn, yawning wondering, whose fingers are these? whose knee haphazardly pushed in the crook? 

The colors of my hands, royal blue chips, the copper, puce, cadet blue. The cardigan accused of being 'mustard' when mustard just isn't olive. The forest green. I crocheted a shoelace; they thought I was out of it. The neon baby stuff I have around me, the notion that honey in my espresso is what's for me. I am learning to devour a little. An omelet here, a slice of green pepper/jalapeno there. The cans all aligned on my perfect big table. I want to write about the internet, because it is finally immanent. I think that could be somehow even boringer than this all.

things we know about me:

I am 26 (I am 23)
I've lost seriously, and twice, within four days.
I've made a list of things I am no longer allowed to purchase.
I am sick, but this time just hearts & brains.
It doesn't matter, the dressed body.
I'm extremely good at giving myself pleasure, in wool tights, in the darkness of a terrible night.
The weather is perfect for me
I tried to ride my bike on the ice with a cup of coffee, it spilled, we slipped.
I am not ready for pool and pitchers anymore
I am ready for different places, like colorado, and tropical places, and new york.
I am an Exhibitionist Atheist Romantic
I used to be Vegan.
I used to be Vegetarian
I used to hate animals.
I used to hate mushrooms.
I like the past
I still urge that I don't believe in magic
I have no problems with those who believe in magic
I used to cry, but now I never do
I cry when I laugh
I am almost alive.
I am a twostar occurrence
& If I'm not worthwhile by the end, won't at least the progeny be.
I am not invested
I don't want new friends.
I like the ending.
It is utter.
I hold grudges because they're tangible.
& I am apologyless