the last conversations

I stayed up until 3 with Gunmetal; when I arrived he was with date. She was poised and pretty and as I went to the bathroom I shut the door and sang a tune to myself- it was about someones plenty, I was trying to remember the song "when you're gone" by the cranberries. I heard him repeating the lines through the door. I opened it and lit his toothbrush with paste. He began to pee and with foaming mouth hurriedly asked me hushed to tell him immediately of any impressions I had of the Date. 

"I know she may seem just pretty, and that's why I asked her out because I just saw pretty, but now I know she's actually smart, and you can throw a ball at her, if you throw a ball at her she'll quietly hold it, she'll subtly toss it around in her hands and then she'll fling it back. So you can do that. So you should, and it's important to me what you think, as a girl too, as the only girl in new york who's most like me." He finished pissing and brushing and I thanked him for the complement. I told him I didn't have enough information left...

He made her a cd which he held out on over dinner, uncertain if she was worthy or not. He ended up giving it to her, along with a bar of chocolate wrapped in white tissue paper. I said, okay mom, and am not sure if he was wise. I suppose now, though, we'll find out on which side she stands. Afraid much? Don't let in on him. 

After awhile I tended to feel my head heavy; my eyes dried up in my skull as the contacts hadn't been taken out in a day. I didn't sleep at home the night before, and in fact avoided the place for a day. But only because I knew all I'd see was remnants of good times past. On the coffee table there still sits tobacco flakes and spilt wine etcetera from a thursday weeks ago, the last thursday of some certain loves. And the beginnings of others. Soda left back to Tucson and the glass-eyed cowboy turned a little to dust. And cups with ancient lemon slices sitting in their bottoms, from the night of white horse when K bellowed my name, face inside the toilet bowl... I need you! I didn't want to come home to these pretty filthy little memories and to the cat Mexico, the only person on whom I can depend. I hate that I have to call the cat a person now, and that when I arrive or awaken it's there, white and with a mew, and I say, oh hi, Mexico, oh hi baby kitty, how are you. And then I kiss it and tell it I love it. Go to work and people accuse me of kissing white fur as it's decorating my face and lips. Pathetic! So I stayed away for a night, the night previous, and, eyes dried, head hanging, back in pain, wanting a massage. So Gray grabs me and feels my spine and accuses me of having scoliosis, which parannoys me. 

How can you tell? I ask him. He says, imagine how many women I've slept with. Imagine how well I know the curve of each spine. My first girlfriend had intense scoliosis. I used to have to tighten the screws on her brace. I interject that this conversation is really making me uncomfortable. That I have to go peel my eyeballs from my head. He begins to dance, telling me that this particular song on is "so yours." I can't dance and he hugs me and gives me a kiss on the mouth and I leave soothed, wondering. Are best friends in a future for me.

The night before I went out when work finished. A boy in particular I was to walk home. He said to me, I would invite you up but it would be a bad idea.

I said okay, and we walked and there was his house. We looked at one another for ten seconds. He said again, I would invite you up but it is a bad idea.

I said, okay, well if you do I am going to accept.

He said okay.

He apologized that his spotless room was a mess. Labradors on bedsheets. He said, this is awkward. 

No, we're just going to sleep. We got into bed, his arm around me. After a few minutes he said he thought maybe we should take our pants off, dreams ensued.

In the morning the sun shown down intently. I was in a sweat and was greeted with nervous breaths and corner eye looks. This was a bad idea we shouldn't have done this, he of course said. He left the room and I said aloud to give us breaks. I dressed and he stood in the doorway. He started a conversation while silently urging me to leave as I put on my socks. I sat there after trying my shoes and we stared for longer. I got up and he asked me for a phonenumber which somehow punctuated a patheticness that was to immediately radiate through me. 

That day I camped out in ft. greene. I watched four episodes of sex & the city at Dave's. They were about threesomes, blow jobs, and finally, pregnancy. I got a little tearyeyed, on the inside of course, during the last episode. And vowed to myself to never again watch such heartbreaking trash. 

I refuse to have the guilt complexes and fearfulnesses of all the others radiate into my little existence. I am still regretless, as best I can, and am pleased to make the avoidance of these disconcerting little neuroses. True I'm all too eager to acquaint myself with these awkwardly delicious human beings, feeling and feeling and feeling again, and a tearing at a face to smile later. 

hazetime

last night we went to the clubhouse for sunset with two copies of t.s. eliot's play, the cocktail party. the sky was going from brevity storm purplegray on the northwestern to fuschia to magenta to oxblood, the temperature & low glowlight perfect on our drowse skin. we each had to read the part of three characters, which proved awkward when one reader had to act all parts in a conversation for pages, throwing accents back & forth. the dog tramped, kicked up soft brown dirt for her shape hole, eventually settling in the dust. but first filling our shoes with the good clubhouse earth. she raged up & down the hill after other bad dogs here, after a covey of quail there. comments on existence, on the devastations & impermanence were made, our mouths sounding out eliot's words like those coming straight from my own. characters giving one another the advice to wait, to just Wait. & I'm learning to. after the first act the northwestern portion had changed to some expensive purple, and breeze whipped around the sagebrush. down the slope, stopping at the plateau to view villa norte & the bare green foothills & the lazy citylights. caught my hair & tossed it around. we ate salads & scapes & cheese, and I opened windows and made myself naked in the mufflenight. I awoke at 3 am & since can't write read some hemingway stories, passing out before flicking through darkness the chitinous body of some invisible bug. I heard sounds & managed to fall into a waterfall of dreams. o to be the satisfied one, once more.

oozehair

Tonight I went to a dinner party for a best old friend

and he made chicken in the oven and with tiny tomatoes and tiny asparaguys

and I sat across the table from an old still someone from teen years,

but with his two parents flanking us,

and I practiced with knife & fork to shred the thigh

this little juice thigh, and I also thought I don't know how to cut meat from the bone

because I was so meatless for so long

& I like chicken only twice, now

so nothing I think like would be perfect bacon

I listen to this song by adele a lot

where she walks through paris

on the rain bridges

with the jawbone & the cheekbone & the buttchin

looking sad like crying sad

like sad crying sad

sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead

The dinner conversation, how to kill a chicken how a grizzly kills a fish don't you gut a fish before you eat it, don't you pluck a chicken once it's dead?

I thought your parents were great. I liked the creamcheese frosting

My eyelashes rainwiping the insides of my glasses

if you call me I will answer,

if you call me I am calling you back

and I am talking to you for a million years

I came to my room & opened the door

and I found a smell to trap

sorry if you think that's gross, but the odor is in my top five.

I was afraid of the bedroom, waited till 9

I was afraid of the bed

I was afraid of the bedside wine box

I was afraid of the pillow, the pillow we stole and wanted & somehow sometimes shared

I was scared of one side of the bed

I am afraid to go into it

but I came and in the dark breathed it all in, pillowed

& filled with scents of another other than me

and you & me
and I am afraid more that should it not become an artifact
a museum room
in all its dust
and fur
and hair
and debris, and all of the soak in it
I'm taking pictures with the fingers on my face
& the fingers in my nose
in snaps and little licks

I washed my hair today, but it is not a better person for it

it is better though

in yearn for summer

...and not even the summer. I believe it was october, but in the painted desert october is still as it is, I assume, always, dressed in lavender, sage, coral, copper, vermilion, powder blue. In the dust, in the warm of a breeze, in the waiting is where I find myself, now. I know, it's february, and it's appreciated, please believe. But also, it is perfectly sunlit today, and for hours I've felt that gentle promise of a future filled. So without a doubt I know the glory of it! in idaho, a june or july & even a may fulfilled. All the things worth awaiting. Until, I've got a solid grasp. my feet in the sand, a heart filled, the creatures & soft flesh touches of the variants which curl up to make a smile or a sigh in me. As I've always said. The waiting & the patience make some worth.

21: cryptic dust

Searching, endless, we found a dark wood, and in it, surrounded by the most exotic mosses and lichens, stood the hazy southernwood.

Determined dust lichens, softly ominous, splayed dryly. The yawning grass suppressed itself. Sometime else elated deer rose, those emblematic creatures spread diligent towards a spotted fog. Let's take an inventory: Gold dust lichens; stuffy yellows, so original lemons, soft tangerines... Spearmint, tortoise, emerald, dream malachite, every young grass slick kinetic. Curt tree coral lived dangerously, yelling gravely; yarn needles stab one blistered, dwells the lavender, rapacious.

My rock hair, my roast beef plant, the thick fur which is called black tree lichen, I wear them all like I should wear a kingcup; my swarthy rock pigeon upon my clock.

Three or four things about me are ordinary. Some, like my cryptic kidney lichens and cancer, are obvious, but I have also many tools at my disposal... tools like the sweet rocket which is intended to generate a response in a crowd, and the legendary Irish Healthblanket, also known as tree moss, in which I wrap myself gladly for some sake of pride. As this proud soul, I spurge & caper about my home on the coast, the cove in an emerald bay. The rock-olive lichens lay clustered against the wash of waves, and beneath bare feet behave as winter squash; toes sink but for a moment, a memory cushion. I'd trust a hag taper to lend the way, an austrian briar rose as my strength.

22: sweet sulphur

Right by my side, and always, the ones like black legumes are rock-olive lichens (cylindrical), and they tend to weigh on the heavier side of three dimensions. My body shakes in spirit. My leeks run wild, looking over their thin shoulders and past the ones they know to the ominous dragon's head which tends to pierce the sidelong glance. Their footprints in the dust lichens, sulphur in the night.

treading warm breath morning

just like a kiss the morning starts, without me. her furred feet warm against me, the darkness more night than day, is. the voice like dreamtime maker trading against my headwalls a subtle beat & throb melody. I'm falling past the night now. I don't pull on them, the hairs, and I can see nomore the big gold spider recently webbuilding above the sewing machine. funny should they choose the places used oftenest, or at least of late. just to dare us to keep working. much better than dust gathered. and let it, then, let them all build their intricate perfect villages throughout the subaru. the dog moans, is having a dream. the paw pressed on my leg still warmly twitches. she breathes, should I wake her? Is Dreaming Away, Ida. Let her dream, let the spiders watch & wait for still opportunity.

twitch and turn

yell, hello through a sunset pink towards cloud. It, a foreground to a yell, a pale dust blue infinity. The yell a hello, the cloud a wisp wandering waywards, still (not at all), but temporary. (These eternities seem never temporary). With the words read before, thoughts before still (no never), just moving timewards. Like a moment of pink cloudwisp and a backdrop of sky. Spied before, bits just the same though this time all just to never be repeated. Once and once again. Once and against, this same old different infinite sky.

This time my view edged with pinetrees, like the pines are lash edges of my eyes. Like a screen around a vision. Like a little curtain underneath.

And the cat, all precious, and the weathervein, and my own veins pink blooded and my selfmade weather inside all edged coniferous. My coneforest looks out through twin eyes. Embolded and southbound western wed, sunset engaged and all matrimonious in twilight expectation.

And just so common

7 June, 1:11 pm

beach house method: 6 7 1 7 6

And just to admit now

that days have been, and not to

remain

throbbing visibly from the

spying. Reminiscing

not am I of his trembling

tempers;

his salt no longer crusts

my lashes. Wearily

(now am I the nervousest,

and

said it isn't mist, it's dust,

and awareness of my

satisfyings, sitting soft

in

knowing forever that I

swim regardless of him.)

(he, an unmentionable

different.)

(he with his name of only

four consonants. Counting not

that one particular

elusive.

A letter for sometimes or

always... The sane, the sane,

the same.)

Hot,

in temperatures, hot not

in heat. Tempered to a

tepid temperance, and the

somehowance

of a superior quiet

around me, if it could

be called it. Because of being

spied,

and maybe the other &

I (,that four-consonanted

fellow & I) could birth one

another

without the shadows; that I'd

like twilight, because with

with with the danish I wasnot

lacking

in twilights or craving for

them, not in he or the

other fellow, the bread-fellow,

he

and his vowels, or anyone

else in worlds/ so it is

happenable; who could care

about

mist anymore anyway,

and who could care to skip

a spying with anyone

on

such a pretty earth; all

the prettiest types and

their prettiest tastes, such differents

when

good, so good, so common.