the daft one smokes her joint,
and so do i too feel the need,
the allowance for this deal -
sacrifice the mind for want of nothing,
sacrifice the thought for want of nothing -
the word means other things,
the lack of sound, lack of pounding equals sane.
i used to care for clothing but now i bear it,
wanting only the look of some trees
while i sedate my mind with the passing of the bark
into paper.
can the earth be rolled and understood,
can the matters of the earth prevail?
and if not where am i found -
you probably wondered why i am so quiet,
you probably wondered why i have nothing to say;
when we talked i wasn't right until i smoked it.
we undress and i am shocked by your bones,
i would never want to lie between your bones,
just so you know,
but still i am shocked by your breast and your chest with my legs,
and my chest and my breast with your legs,
one is perfect, and one is not -
what do the words mean?
what does it mean to care for the earth
when your foe thinks just of paper?
what does it mean to know for the earth
when you still have need of paper -
when shall we be measured and who by?
this intuition of trees, this intuition
of paper does not exist if we still try.
i'd like to take your baggage and compare
your want to mine -
did you grow up in the trees?
i will take your baggage and roll it next to mine
until the leaves become the measure of the word
and paper dies.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Characteristics of a Gifted Child
when I was twelve
my brain
was too good
so i drank
because at least
with the drunks
I could talk about something -
with the books i got bored,
eventually;
with the drunks I never
did because they gave me
something to write about.
my brain
was too good
so i drank
because at least
with the drunks
I could talk about something -
with the books i got bored,
eventually;
with the drunks I never
did because they gave me
something to write about.
Murder (Sorry Mother)
when I was twelve
my reflection time resulted
in a paper full of the
word H A T E
in bright red
from one corner to the other,
from the top end to the bottom,
and the entire time I wrote it
I thought of my mother.
my reflection time resulted
in a paper full of the
word H A T E
in bright red
from one corner to the other,
from the top end to the bottom,
and the entire time I wrote it
I thought of my mother.
Midland Town Docks
i know where you keep your boat,
someone told me,
someone told me you keep your boat at a dock
near my house where i live -
your boat is kept in a place near where i live
and you come here twice a year to use it.
i come from a town attracting tourists from the city
who come here to be on water that is clean
because all of the water in the city has been used;
the water has become dirty in your home
so you come to where i live twice a year
and use my water.
sort of like the way you use
my body twice a week while we
dwell not far from each other
in this cold, city town.
in the tourist town where i grew up
people seperate depending on the time of year -
in the summer people come into the streets
and work their trades,
in the winter they hide in their homes
leaving the streets to freeze over -
every so often some members come out and not
seeing the coldness of the street
fall down despite them.
i heard you don't dock your boat in Midland anymore;
it reminds me of the feeling i got when i left your place
the last second time of the week we met - we haven't spoken
since because we traded goods and now we have no reason
to keep each other at all.
someone told me,
someone told me you keep your boat at a dock
near my house where i live -
your boat is kept in a place near where i live
and you come here twice a year to use it.
i come from a town attracting tourists from the city
who come here to be on water that is clean
because all of the water in the city has been used;
the water has become dirty in your home
so you come to where i live twice a year
and use my water.
sort of like the way you use
my body twice a week while we
dwell not far from each other
in this cold, city town.
in the tourist town where i grew up
people seperate depending on the time of year -
in the summer people come into the streets
and work their trades,
in the winter they hide in their homes
leaving the streets to freeze over -
every so often some members come out and not
seeing the coldness of the street
fall down despite them.
i heard you don't dock your boat in Midland anymore;
it reminds me of the feeling i got when i left your place
the last second time of the week we met - we haven't spoken
since because we traded goods and now we have no reason
to keep each other at all.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Stop Calling Me
Do you know what pigeon feels like
when it is between your teeth?
Rubber.
Do you know what pigeon looks like when
it has been shot dead?
Like a sidewalk full of language barriers.
No, I never said I wanted to kill all of the pigeons.
Why did you kill all of the pigeons!
Like: When Can We Meet Us Again? You Will Call Me
Tommorrow? We Can Meet Us At Noon?
No.
Like: just eat the fricken food because you're in a nice place
with nice people and even though the bird tastes like rubber,
everyone else is eating it.
Tastes fine.
Like: good morning skatter, guess what I did this morning,
I killed a pigeon because I know you hate them. Come outside
and see.
when it is between your teeth?
Rubber.
Do you know what pigeon looks like when
it has been shot dead?
Like a sidewalk full of language barriers.
No, I never said I wanted to kill all of the pigeons.
Why did you kill all of the pigeons!
Like: When Can We Meet Us Again? You Will Call Me
Tommorrow? We Can Meet Us At Noon?
No.
Like: just eat the fricken food because you're in a nice place
with nice people and even though the bird tastes like rubber,
everyone else is eating it.
Tastes fine.
Like: good morning skatter, guess what I did this morning,
I killed a pigeon because I know you hate them. Come outside
and see.
Rage ie. Pop Culture
no. you fuck,
i don't have time for you.
i was in the city
with some people
to get away from
the likes of you.
my father orders rocks,
orders tractors to be moved
to calm his shaking limbs,
to loosen stiffed up limbs,
to make his mind off of
the legs he has not gotten -
my father is my friend.
i think you're a fuck sometimes,
you know that.
i met a person and i went
on a date, a date where leather
pants were accepted and patterned
tights were worn and where I
ran and I tripped and I fell
and did a face plant.
you're a real fuck.
take a look at my knee you fuck,
there was a cut there and now it is
scabbed over. i had a friend
who slept with a boy i loved and she taught me
to destroy the likes of you.
fuck. i'd like to shut you up.
i came to the city to get away from
the likes of you.
the city is a place where people like you
dwell - I'll fuck you up girl.
i don't have time for you.
i was in the city
with some people
to get away from
the likes of you.
my father orders rocks,
orders tractors to be moved
to calm his shaking limbs,
to loosen stiffed up limbs,
to make his mind off of
the legs he has not gotten -
my father is my friend.
i think you're a fuck sometimes,
you know that.
i met a person and i went
on a date, a date where leather
pants were accepted and patterned
tights were worn and where I
ran and I tripped and I fell
and did a face plant.
you're a real fuck.
take a look at my knee you fuck,
there was a cut there and now it is
scabbed over. i had a friend
who slept with a boy i loved and she taught me
to destroy the likes of you.
fuck. i'd like to shut you up.
i came to the city to get away from
the likes of you.
the city is a place where people like you
dwell - I'll fuck you up girl.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Come Not Often
I slammed a boulder through the window.
I did, I got a crane and I learned how to use it
and I picked up a rock and I dropped it into the
window and I smashed it.
Twice I have been witness to the repositioning
of large rocks, both moved by men whose opinion
I liked and both times I have been shocked
by the desire to move such largeness into unnatural,
man-made forms.
The glass was perfectly clear and had been washed
with windex by a man in white who had been
sitting in my head.
I ate an apple and then I smashed the
window and I stood at a safe distance
so when the grass cracked, not a single piece
would scrape my skin.
I did, I got a crane and I learned how to use it
and I picked up a rock and I dropped it into the
window and I smashed it.
Twice I have been witness to the repositioning
of large rocks, both moved by men whose opinion
I liked and both times I have been shocked
by the desire to move such largeness into unnatural,
man-made forms.
The glass was perfectly clear and had been washed
with windex by a man in white who had been
sitting in my head.
I ate an apple and then I smashed the
window and I stood at a safe distance
so when the grass cracked, not a single piece
would scrape my skin.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Just So You Know
it was good to see
your bones.
do not look in my direction.
i may lose my mind and then i may
lose my head and then i may lose
my neck and then i may lose my bones.
your bones.
do not look in my direction.
i may lose my mind and then i may
lose my head and then i may lose
my neck and then i may lose my bones.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Usurp
i'd like to hear your side of the story,
i saw you and you are still too skinny.
i want to know, is it cocaine, is it sadness,
is it madness, is it craving, failing, liking the dark,
needing the light, needing the bones to
be seen, tell me, i'd like to hear your side
of the story, do you think you'll be alright,
friend, i'd like to hear that you are okay
because if you are not i'd like to lend my pencil
and draw you skinny and help you find your way.
skinny friend, i do despise nights, the way they ended
the way your side of the story came out empty, skinny
friend, i do despise mornings, and i do despise
how skinny you have become since
you changed my favourite syllables, dear friend,
you are far too skinny, is it cocaine, sadness, madness,
tell me friend, i am mad as well, i am sad as well, i have been
wanting some cocaine, dear friend. skinny we are, have become
and i am sad that your skinny legs are skinnier than mine
and that you are too sad to sit still and speak, you are so sad.
i saw you and you are still too skinny.
i want to know, is it cocaine, is it sadness,
is it madness, is it craving, failing, liking the dark,
needing the light, needing the bones to
be seen, tell me, i'd like to hear your side
of the story, do you think you'll be alright,
friend, i'd like to hear that you are okay
because if you are not i'd like to lend my pencil
and draw you skinny and help you find your way.
skinny friend, i do despise nights, the way they ended
the way your side of the story came out empty, skinny
friend, i do despise mornings, and i do despise
how skinny you have become since
you changed my favourite syllables, dear friend,
you are far too skinny, is it cocaine, sadness, madness,
tell me friend, i am mad as well, i am sad as well, i have been
wanting some cocaine, dear friend. skinny we are, have become
and i am sad that your skinny legs are skinnier than mine
and that you are too sad to sit still and speak, you are so sad.
Skinny Legs, I Saw You
your skinny highway jeans drew lines across my legs,
your skinny highway legs left lines across my eyes,
your highway cock killed me three times and i wanted to die.
four hundred skinny legs tumbled together like kindling,
the windows got shut to prevent the cars from driving through
and i wanted to creamate you there between my lines.
your skinny highway lines drew eyes across my ties and you
told me that skinny highway lines come often.
(but i want you)
your skinny highway planks of wood left lines across my legs
in broken skin and your skinny highway planks of cock left
me silent in your skinny highway lines of springs and following
skinny lines of stepping i watched you do in skinny sight
lines and you told me that skinny fucking love was hungry for
some hungry fucking love and lines across your skin are not
meant for leaving along lines
(but i want you)
your skinny highway legs left imprints on my brains speckled
and purpled like bruises that come from evenings when too many
drinks have been had and too many people have gone home alone
leaving lines in the road (but i want you) and your skinny
highway jeans leave too many lines at the bottom of my nose
too many lines at the top of the ceiling, your skinny highway
of rails and lines goldened like the sky above the treeline
(and i want you)
skinny highway love goldened hard against the reflection of the sky
against the skin covered keys on the sidewalk, i want you and skinny
highway jeans and love and lines and four hundred skinny arms tumbled
together in piles like fire wood, clanking and bruising skinny highway
lines into lines we were never meant to be and skinny highway sightlines
do still the air so skinny highway jeans are meant to be here in places
where your highway cock and skinny jeans leave lines across my eyes
(and i want you).
your skinny highway legs left lines across my eyes,
your highway cock killed me three times and i wanted to die.
four hundred skinny legs tumbled together like kindling,
the windows got shut to prevent the cars from driving through
and i wanted to creamate you there between my lines.
your skinny highway lines drew eyes across my ties and you
told me that skinny highway lines come often.
(but i want you)
your skinny highway planks of wood left lines across my legs
in broken skin and your skinny highway planks of cock left
me silent in your skinny highway lines of springs and following
skinny lines of stepping i watched you do in skinny sight
lines and you told me that skinny fucking love was hungry for
some hungry fucking love and lines across your skin are not
meant for leaving along lines
(but i want you)
your skinny highway legs left imprints on my brains speckled
and purpled like bruises that come from evenings when too many
drinks have been had and too many people have gone home alone
leaving lines in the road (but i want you) and your skinny
highway jeans leave too many lines at the bottom of my nose
too many lines at the top of the ceiling, your skinny highway
of rails and lines goldened like the sky above the treeline
(and i want you)
skinny highway love goldened hard against the reflection of the sky
against the skin covered keys on the sidewalk, i want you and skinny
highway jeans and love and lines and four hundred skinny arms tumbled
together in piles like fire wood, clanking and bruising skinny highway
lines into lines we were never meant to be and skinny highway sightlines
do still the air so skinny highway jeans are meant to be here in places
where your highway cock and skinny jeans leave lines across my eyes
(and i want you).
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Here are a List of Reasons/New Muses
Here is a list of the things
my muse embodies:
Wheat grass.
My muse embodies breast plates decorated
with jade and amber and fluorescent pink
stones that belong at the bottom of
a pool of water coloured aqua (the jade
and the
amber are found in small
markets;
the water is
coloured by the
floor on which
it
finds itself
floating close
above -
sometimes it is dark
because the bottom cannot be seen).
My breast plate has become an arena
for bones
and for jewelry.
My breast plate has become an arena
for
decoration.
My breast has been wiped
of the seeds of the earth and
hungry as a breastplate I
have become clean.
I have become gaunted and blackened
and darkened at the eyes;
my skin has lost its rosy glow
but it stands still across my bones -
before we can create for the muse
we must become
the muse
(watch muses
through glass, through mirrors,
through windows);
my muse stands still, knowing watching,
knowing less the reprimand he has
upon my planting of new weeds,
upon the planting of my skin behind glass windows.
my muse embodies:
Wheat grass.
My muse embodies breast plates decorated
with jade and amber and fluorescent pink
stones that belong at the bottom of
a pool of water coloured aqua (the jade
and the
amber are found in small
markets;
the water is
coloured by the
floor on which
it
finds itself
floating close
above -
sometimes it is dark
because the bottom cannot be seen).
My breast plate has become an arena
for bones
and for jewelry.
My breast plate has become an arena
for
decoration.
My breast has been wiped
of the seeds of the earth and
hungry as a breastplate I
have become clean.
I have become gaunted and blackened
and darkened at the eyes;
my skin has lost its rosy glow
but it stands still across my bones -
before we can create for the muse
we must become
the muse
(watch muses
through glass, through mirrors,
through windows);
my muse stands still, knowing watching,
knowing less the reprimand he has
upon my planting of new weeds,
upon the planting of my skin behind glass windows.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Apartments Behind Alleys Onto pages
can you see across the stream,
the angle of my pen,
the way it squews the letters into
shapes that have gone sour;
can you see the scratch of pen,
the scratch of language,
scratch of the mode this text implies,
momentum this implies.
i once smoked a tube packed with
need and i felt clean -
that is i felt beside myself -
like ecstasy obscuring curtains
and keys and pages of books
into things i can identify with stories
out of our cynical tripping to
scratch hands, make bands;
can you feel the scratching of this suede
against my toes, braided vinyl pushing
leather to the side where i found you
on the sidewall scratching hands,
stealing steez between the rings that make
imprints on your skin.
the angle of my pen,
the way it squews the letters into
shapes that have gone sour;
can you see the scratch of pen,
the scratch of language,
scratch of the mode this text implies,
momentum this implies.
i once smoked a tube packed with
need and i felt clean -
that is i felt beside myself -
like ecstasy obscuring curtains
and keys and pages of books
into things i can identify with stories
out of our cynical tripping to
scratch hands, make bands;
can you feel the scratching of this suede
against my toes, braided vinyl pushing
leather to the side where i found you
on the sidewall scratching hands,
stealing steez between the rings that make
imprints on your skin.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Maybe Means Yes Here
7:00 am: bike ride into town on bike three feet too tall,
bottom of seat digging into small of back,
antler horns and elbow rests.
7:10 am: man with dog in park.
7:11 am: man fishing off pier.
7:12 am: dead mouse.
7:13 am: elderly man with baby.
7:14 am: fireman smoking in back of station.
7:15 am: giant bell.
8:23 am: dead raccoon on side of road;
dead cat on side on sidewalk,
hitting dog on side of bike.
10:13 am: water.
12:26 pm: vegetables.
1:13 pm: water;
1:37 pm: water;
1:50 pm: water.
4:47 pm: stiff knees.
5:10 pm: purple aprons.
5:57 pm: blasphemy.
croissant with spinach.
9:27 pm: mountain bike with loud wheels,
stunt bike with suspension,
road bike ten feet tall.
posse on easy.
bottom of seat digging into small of back,
antler horns and elbow rests.
7:10 am: man with dog in park.
7:11 am: man fishing off pier.
7:12 am: dead mouse.
7:13 am: elderly man with baby.
7:14 am: fireman smoking in back of station.
7:15 am: giant bell.
8:23 am: dead raccoon on side of road;
dead cat on side on sidewalk,
hitting dog on side of bike.
10:13 am: water.
12:26 pm: vegetables.
1:13 pm: water;
1:37 pm: water;
1:50 pm: water.
4:47 pm: stiff knees.
5:10 pm: purple aprons.
5:57 pm: blasphemy.
croissant with spinach.
9:27 pm: mountain bike with loud wheels,
stunt bike with suspension,
road bike ten feet tall.
posse on easy.
Friday, August 25, 2006
[Summer Lover] I have taste -
once again you stand alone beside me,
dear friend, don't tell me we have lost it
once again;
its been a while since i have felt
this screaming in my head,
its been a while since i did think
that maybe i am dead.
i love you like cocaine,
i love you like tar driveways peeling off the gravel
and all around my skin,
i love you like black tulle sewn into dresses,
i love you like new years,
like salads
like the sidewalk on the mainstreet,
i love you like kissing,
like smoking pipes,
like cigarettes,
like acting my age,
my suitor,
i love you like my mother,
i love you like the city (and more)
(i have gone unmad and i have gone silent).
if you were to rip my head open you might find tar
where you once stood and you might find strings that
do not work but i am still happy you were here
and you were here,
like cocaine, tar and ramala, i love you.
dear friend, don't tell me we have lost it
once again;
its been a while since i have felt
this screaming in my head,
its been a while since i did think
that maybe i am dead.
i love you like cocaine,
i love you like tar driveways peeling off the gravel
and all around my skin,
i love you like black tulle sewn into dresses,
i love you like new years,
like salads
like the sidewalk on the mainstreet,
i love you like kissing,
like smoking pipes,
like cigarettes,
like acting my age,
my suitor,
i love you like my mother,
i love you like the city (and more)
(i have gone unmad and i have gone silent).
if you were to rip my head open you might find tar
where you once stood and you might find strings that
do not work but i am still happy you were here
and you were here,
like cocaine, tar and ramala, i love you.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Deserted
summer hangover in the desert,
with hamburgers, strawberries, and you.
every year you call me, you say,
happy birthday.
this year there was no call
but there was heat and there was
panting and there was no water,
and there was the hot of the desert
with a hangover.
you are gone away for a very long time,
you are gone away and i won't hear from you soon,
which may be better considering
my skin is covered in such dirt and no water
from the sky.
give me a call,
i want to but i won't.
there are places that are not good, there are places
that are not healthy, there are places that are bad,
and there is the desert,
and there are places that make the desert seem bad -
(people
are not meant
to be kept,
how long do you think he can keep you?)
i've taken far too much without thinking,
i've made too many thoughts without thinking.
with hamburgers, strawberries, and you.
every year you call me, you say,
happy birthday.
this year there was no call
but there was heat and there was
panting and there was no water,
and there was the hot of the desert
with a hangover.
you are gone away for a very long time,
you are gone away and i won't hear from you soon,
which may be better considering
my skin is covered in such dirt and no water
from the sky.
give me a call,
i want to but i won't.
there are places that are not good, there are places
that are not healthy, there are places that are bad,
and there is the desert,
and there are places that make the desert seem bad -
(people
are not meant
to be kept,
how long do you think he can keep you?)
i've taken far too much without thinking,
i've made too many thoughts without thinking.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
It's Just A Spectacle.
you are the only girl
i ever wanted,
you are the only girl
i ever wanted,
you are the only girl
i ever wanted,
you are the only girl,
i ever wanted.
i ever wanted,
you are the only girl
i ever wanted,
you are the only girl
i ever wanted,
you are the only girl,
i ever wanted.
Leave me Lonely (Get Real).
i am sick of people and their things,
i am sick of people and their blazers,
and their trail blazers,
i am sick of people and mismatching earrings,
and their people who don't care,
do you even care?
i am sick of people,
smoke a jizz,
smoke a jizz.
i am sick of girls
(what are you missing that i will never have?);
i am sick of boys
(what do you have that i am missing?).
i am sick of girls and boys
and things.
you hair is too dyed,
your waist is too hungry,
your eyes are too lined,
your life is too lonely,
do you care?
(sick and straightened,
uneven and sad,
unfaithful and ugly,
do you care?).
your necklace is bright blue,
your hair is straight dead,
your eyes are sad.
i am sick of people and their blazers,
and their trail blazers,
i am sick of people and mismatching earrings,
and their people who don't care,
do you even care?
i am sick of people,
smoke a jizz,
smoke a jizz.
i am sick of girls
(what are you missing that i will never have?);
i am sick of boys
(what do you have that i am missing?).
i am sick of girls and boys
and things.
you hair is too dyed,
your waist is too hungry,
your eyes are too lined,
your life is too lonely,
do you care?
(sick and straightened,
uneven and sad,
unfaithful and ugly,
do you care?).
your necklace is bright blue,
your hair is straight dead,
your eyes are sad.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Love Set You Going Like Rock
"Love set you going like a fat gold watch" - Sylvia Plath, Morning Song
This morning we covered you in tiny rocks that we found on the beach. One by one we lathered the edges and placed them on your skin. You looked like a mosaic except there was too much skin showing so we collected seashells and zebra mussels and covered the lines between the rocks leaving only the coral of your nipples open. You sat in the tree and I imagined the bark peeling off the tree and onto your body hugging the curve of your back and your bum. In actuality though, you sat there on the bottom branch and you spread your legs, so not only was the coral of your nipple showing but the coral of your lady as well. In the evening, the fire was raining on our faces, and we stared at you still covered in rocks and shells and we made you a geranium bulb necklace and tied it round your neck and you sat there staring blankly.
This morning you woke up with tiny pills covering your body. I wanted to lick them and make a paste and use it to stick fish scales one by one to your epidermis. I went to the water and caught a fish and then I killed it and shaved its scales off. I glued the fish scales one by one to your right arm and stared at you and imagined how fine of a mosaic you would make if only I could cover the lines between the scales. I sat quietly and waited for the crows to come and I killed one and I took its feathers and I used them to fill in the spaces. Later I found you by the fire with coals skipping across your nipples, your arm still covered in scales and feathers. I wondered who let you fall asleep at the fire with so little material covering your skin. I wanted to smear the coals black and cover you with sand and leave you there for the day, maybe pour water over you and turn the sand into mud but I just left you. I imagined putting you in the tree but I knew the sand would fall off without any moisture to make it stick, so I left you staring.
This morning when you woke up, the scar on your face was shining red, so I went to the beach and grabbed pieces of grass from the shore and I pasted them on your face with clay that I found at the bottom of the bay. You lay there the entire time as though you had never woken while I started at the top of your face, pasting weeds past your eyes, over your cheekbones, down across your lip to your chin. You looked fine, like a mosaic, pieces of skin separated by lines of waxy green. I imagined you as part of the beach, even thought of moving your body to the new ecosystem at the edge of the shore. Your scar now protected by the grass would not be affected by the sun.
This morning I told you how lovely your eyes would be if they were balls of glass and you let me shatter them to flatter the sun. You told me you wanted a brooch but your words could not be pasted so I took you to the bay and I threw you in and I watched you lie there, imagining you as a rock, completing the mosaic of the water.
This morning we covered you in tiny rocks that we found on the beach. One by one we lathered the edges and placed them on your skin. You looked like a mosaic except there was too much skin showing so we collected seashells and zebra mussels and covered the lines between the rocks leaving only the coral of your nipples open. You sat in the tree and I imagined the bark peeling off the tree and onto your body hugging the curve of your back and your bum. In actuality though, you sat there on the bottom branch and you spread your legs, so not only was the coral of your nipple showing but the coral of your lady as well. In the evening, the fire was raining on our faces, and we stared at you still covered in rocks and shells and we made you a geranium bulb necklace and tied it round your neck and you sat there staring blankly.
This morning you woke up with tiny pills covering your body. I wanted to lick them and make a paste and use it to stick fish scales one by one to your epidermis. I went to the water and caught a fish and then I killed it and shaved its scales off. I glued the fish scales one by one to your right arm and stared at you and imagined how fine of a mosaic you would make if only I could cover the lines between the scales. I sat quietly and waited for the crows to come and I killed one and I took its feathers and I used them to fill in the spaces. Later I found you by the fire with coals skipping across your nipples, your arm still covered in scales and feathers. I wondered who let you fall asleep at the fire with so little material covering your skin. I wanted to smear the coals black and cover you with sand and leave you there for the day, maybe pour water over you and turn the sand into mud but I just left you. I imagined putting you in the tree but I knew the sand would fall off without any moisture to make it stick, so I left you staring.
This morning when you woke up, the scar on your face was shining red, so I went to the beach and grabbed pieces of grass from the shore and I pasted them on your face with clay that I found at the bottom of the bay. You lay there the entire time as though you had never woken while I started at the top of your face, pasting weeds past your eyes, over your cheekbones, down across your lip to your chin. You looked fine, like a mosaic, pieces of skin separated by lines of waxy green. I imagined you as part of the beach, even thought of moving your body to the new ecosystem at the edge of the shore. Your scar now protected by the grass would not be affected by the sun.
This morning I told you how lovely your eyes would be if they were balls of glass and you let me shatter them to flatter the sun. You told me you wanted a brooch but your words could not be pasted so I took you to the bay and I threw you in and I watched you lie there, imagining you as a rock, completing the mosaic of the water.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Letters to L
Dear L,
I saw your father today. He was sitting on the curb by your house and when he saw me he told me, there's something wrong with the dog. He told me your dog wouldn't walk beside him anymore, that he insisted on walking ahead. He must be tired, I said, and he asked me where my shoes were.
Dear L,
I saw your mother today. She asked me how the house was coming and I told her you had collected all the bricks and tiles we would need and that the house was coming fine.
Dear L,
Today my father told me, there's a dead tree I need to cut down, do you want to come? I went to the passenger side of the truck and he said, you bring your notepad, so I did. I sat on the bench staring at the birch trees, wondering what it would be like to be like them.
Dear L,
I was looking through the drawers today and I decided that I like the spaces between us more than I used to. We are never full from each other, and that is good (gluttony is a sin, you know). The spaces between us leave us room for our shoulders and our knees.
Dear L,
When I think of you I see green, peach, magenta and scarlet, like the colour of my coat the other night and the colour in my face when you ask me that. I would like to take you into the woods and pour needles over your toes, and tell you that I miss you.
I saw your father today. He was sitting on the curb by your house and when he saw me he told me, there's something wrong with the dog. He told me your dog wouldn't walk beside him anymore, that he insisted on walking ahead. He must be tired, I said, and he asked me where my shoes were.
Dear L,
I saw your mother today. She asked me how the house was coming and I told her you had collected all the bricks and tiles we would need and that the house was coming fine.
Dear L,
Today my father told me, there's a dead tree I need to cut down, do you want to come? I went to the passenger side of the truck and he said, you bring your notepad, so I did. I sat on the bench staring at the birch trees, wondering what it would be like to be like them.
Dear L,
I was looking through the drawers today and I decided that I like the spaces between us more than I used to. We are never full from each other, and that is good (gluttony is a sin, you know). The spaces between us leave us room for our shoulders and our knees.
Dear L,
When I think of you I see green, peach, magenta and scarlet, like the colour of my coat the other night and the colour in my face when you ask me that. I would like to take you into the woods and pour needles over your toes, and tell you that I miss you.
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