Tuesday, June 20, 2006

ccxxxiii

Do you pace in elevators? We burke the question. “Youth
isn’t the automatic turn-on it used to be.”  Things that go away:
like a headache
reading a magazine
in the jury pool.
I still have a little trouble in the chest tuesday 45 minutes beyond the
prescription.  At the picnic: sunshine 12:30pm chime street vendors
older man in mascara with swimming pool parties (thank God we never went)
you picking out the fat pigeons the cool pigeons the seagulls that chase the
pigeons the fresh fruit salad with your fingers til I give you the fork.
Last night I
dreamt of
him who can
never leave me.  A DREAM.
You and I grow older every minute.  Summer sun soft glow.  See
the sailboats play with each other making new shapes.  Moonlit headrush.
Dry mind
and hunger.
This is why I should be writing.  Take me to the uncomfortable
picture somewhere let it out.  I spoke again long distance.  Hunk curve
ocean bull whispers horn salve.  Thank God I’m
consistent.