Saturday, August 25, 2012

mdcxcviii

I wonder if you see the problem
of my answering of the door.  My
potential—sitting on a bench in
Union Square—during a short
dry spell.  Misread words (pre-
sently idiot for latté) start at
cute joke and end in labyrinth-
ian prison.  Is this something
to take comfort in?  I hang out
with Fred while bumping Ryan.
The strategy gets perverse.  Per-
haps, however, a glass of water
is just a glass of water.  Chimney
soot and pigeon poop.  A relaxed
friend is viable.  Yet I am sick
with attraction.  And Netherlands
actually exists.  To celebrate (I
am an optimist, after all), I send
my love a note.  Your granma
is really beautiful.