which might just
as easily be its last
dance: “last call
for alcohol,” will
yet be a couple
of hours from now.
which would on
ly then be my
favorite time of
the night to cut a
rug—after the
drunks’ve gone
home. however,
i’m talking about
what to do to put
my final stamp on
this day, today;
tomorrow’s to
morrow. so, as it
’s less than an hour
to midnight now,
what am i doing
but writing a few
words down to
send your way—
so very few folks
seem to know the
least bit of who i
am, as it were—
it’s a little some
thing that excites
me to think some
one might want to
know, might even
begin to get it right.
self self self me me
me, that’s the way it
is and the way i(t)’ll
always be (i suppose).
but besides these lines?
let's see, though—it isn’t
as if i’ve nothing to show
for the last twenty-three
and a half hours (or so).
this would be the day i
might’ve finally snapped
out of my funk after be
ing bullied out of yet
another too short stint
of employment. i even
got asked to schedule
an interview. but isn’t
that boring stuff? what’s
not is my wonderful con
versation with mom late
this evening – another
night of going over old
photos, trying to see if
we can come to some
sort of quorum over
who’s who in all of
the old tolbert and
weaver photos i
seem to have in
herited. and this i
did whilst eating a big
bowl of okra, which i
picked up at the market
just a few steps down
howard this afternoon,
frozen, truth be told,
but what a treat of a
bowl of okra it was!
mom says that sadly
and oddly enough, she
hasn’t even had any this
year. as of yet. what else,
what else? well, there was
a rendezvous that was quite
titillating, and which i think
i’ll just leave at that. but to
say being in love is such a
treasure, one that like the
photographic nostalgia has
that giddy air of familiarity,
and sure, it’s impossible to
call it new anymore, but
just to feel it, just to say
it, is still such a strange
and exciting thing that
for a while there i had
wondered, i had really
wondered if i’d ever
really have a good
reason to say it again,
to feel it once
more, and always
unique, thank goodness,
new and different, and i
guess i said i was going
to leave it at that about
twenty or so lines ago.
of hours from now.
which would on
ly then be my
favorite time of
the night to cut a
rug—after the
drunks’ve gone
home. however,
i’m talking about
what to do to put
my final stamp on
this day, today;
tomorrow’s to
morrow. so, as it
’s less than an hour
to midnight now,
what am i doing
but writing a few
words down to
send your way—
so very few folks
seem to know the
least bit of who i
am, as it were—
it’s a little some
thing that excites
me to think some
one might want to
know, might even
begin to get it right.
self self self me me
me, that’s the way it
is and the way i(t)’ll
always be (i suppose).
but besides these lines?
let's see, though—it isn’t
as if i’ve nothing to show
for the last twenty-three
and a half hours (or so).
this would be the day i
might’ve finally snapped
out of my funk after be
ing bullied out of yet
another too short stint
of employment. i even
got asked to schedule
an interview. but isn’t
that boring stuff? what’s
not is my wonderful con
versation with mom late
this evening – another
night of going over old
photos, trying to see if
we can come to some
sort of quorum over
who’s who in all of
the old tolbert and
weaver photos i
seem to have in
herited. and this i
did whilst eating a big
bowl of okra, which i
picked up at the market
just a few steps down
howard this afternoon,
frozen, truth be told,
but what a treat of a
bowl of okra it was!
mom says that sadly
and oddly enough, she
hasn’t even had any this
year. as of yet. what else,
what else? well, there was
a rendezvous that was quite
titillating, and which i think
i’ll just leave at that. but to
say being in love is such a
treasure, one that like the
photographic nostalgia has
that giddy air of familiarity,
and sure, it’s impossible to
call it new anymore, but
just to feel it, just to say
it, is still such a strange
and exciting thing that
for a while there i had
wondered, i had really
wondered if i’d ever
really have a good
reason to say it again,
to feel it once
more, and always
unique, thank goodness,
new and different, and i
guess i said i was going
to leave it at that about
twenty or so lines ago.
which is to say that as
far as today goes, i have
now apparently danced
it almost entirely away.
speaking of lines ago,
lines to go, and miles
to go before i sleep
(not really; i just
move my butt from
my wobbly chair to
my broken bed, upon
which sits the laptop on
which i type with some
speed this missile to get
it locked and loaded and
on its merry way to you
post haste, it being now
lines to go, and miles
to go before i sleep
(not really; i just
move my butt from
my wobbly chair to
my broken bed, upon
which sits the laptop on
which i type with some
speed this missile to get
it locked and loaded and
on its merry way to you
post haste, it being now
seven short minutes
to midnight). . . .
