the excitement of the outback steaks & the smile I can makes

I'm going to put these words away, now. I want to experience some facts, now! and for once. Today I am going out in the world, but with a bike for the weather's too much for experience. I'd feel guilty leaving it behind.

When I last looked for employment, I went on a long, rainy january carride to beaverton. It was a westy's, or maybe... are there westy's in beaverton? It was a big bowling alley, supercorporate. I fell in love immediately. I fell in love driving, actually, the rain beating against shoddy wipers, the cliffs of the freeway climbing, climbing in the dark around, and the forest surrounding. I thought beaverton might be a romantic little sanctuary, buried in the lush of north oregon, the layers of soil and dirt brimming with life, earthworms, beetles, ferns of every sort. But was I surprised, then? After the long drive I knew that if my future workplace was in fact going to be this particular bowling alley, my forced lunches & dinners would be fries and outback steaks.

But my confidence! oh, I knew it, I just knew they'd want me. I was perfect. I would wear skirts, and have a nice haircut, and I'd be younger & cuter than the rest, and the patrons at the westy's bar would just love me. I'd keep the crowds thick. I'd keep them coming. Of course they'd see this clearly! The line in which I waited for my three-minute interview was one-hundred people long.

Today, I have this path to go along the boise river, and somewhere, over in the worthlessness of parkcenter boulevard, I'll creep alongside the red robin, smile a smile I can smile, and show them how fucking retardedly able to welcome rich douchebags to a restaurant am I. How capable, and how thrilled, even! I can smile and smile and smile. Just keep the bruise-tattoos and armpits to a minimum. Minimum is a pretty word.

little rift in shortest summer

Can't I not help it, but the weather somehow took a dip in me. Like the last one left, I'm here in the hollow sounds & shapes. But with all sounds of the dogs who live here, too, and they don't want to be alone. They chase ghosts and feel sad about things, but I don't know it. And I don't think it's true. They hear rain in their bones hours before the first drops. I feel it in the texture of the air, and in the speed of my brain at work. I like all the colors of it, and how it makes a sort of round terrarium out of my house. with just two dogs & me in here. All the lush of the plants outside & drinking, and the cat too out there all wet maybe hiding greeneyed glaring from beneath the neighbor's parked car. In the real wet all there. I can't tell, but the rain just glanced off my skin, even as I moved in slowmotion. All the cars silenced by it. Every rush at pause.

oregon

I am a bit, a lot. I am often, and it an obvious lightsource. This is somewhere before never been, at least records of, nonexistent. In a lush green, in an overcast still lit somehow. I remember many things before, and februaries before this. Because all of this. A chirp, a subtle stare from a dog on the floor. The run of water makes the bird cry. Dressed blue in tiny feathers. Just the little bell tinkle too as it quakes cage encased.

A sweet heart next, bodies warm in proximity. A twelve green stairway, slopes and peelings from ages gone. Bygone, gone by, the scent of a strong tea in me, the feeling of many, a breath through the nostrils and in the throat the right of which is sour, sore. Pour a rightside hot down with liquid to burn & scrape making soft clean health around. Health abound. Many little rosemary fronds for my forward, I know it.

I died

I almost died by ambulance this time, tonight it was speeding through with only lights and engine sound to warn, no music of sirens, not a thing. Seconds on time was I, to life everlasting. Disasters distracting as shapes from outwards of nowhere. Delicious departures from certain snowy landscapes (of a mind). Still fawning, breathless. Envisioning seaweedscapes, a mind full and collapsed, envelopes of dramatic dream memory sway, each little disaster eclipsing in on itself. It would have been an anniversary to end all anniversaries, inside but not to mention a full moon to end all moons full. I am so incipient, excited for my day of birth. I will see the 24th year. In all manner of ellipses. Breaths of doom lush ever ending nervesway.

˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚

---

I almost

Died by ambulance,

It was speeding

Engine sound

Day of birth

I,

Disasters

In on,

Envisioning seaweedscapes, a mind full and collapsed,

Delicious

It

Distracting ash shapes from outwards of nowhere.

Inside

Envelopes of

Departures from certain snowy.

I,

Dramatic...

I am so excited for my

Each

Dream memory sway,

Inside

Disaster

In all manner of

Eclipsing

Doom brush never

---

To, was with only from the landscapes (of a mind). Little lights and warn, no music of sirens, not a thing. Seconds on time was to life everlasting. Ellipses. Breaths of to mention a full moon

would have been an anniversary to end all anniversaries, not to end all moons full. The 24th year will see ending nervesway.