"Love is short. Forgetting is long." These are the words written in my borrowed journal. I read them, repeat them, mull them obsessively as I step gingerly onto green blades in the soft autumn sun.
Cold stone. Not sweet like ice cream but unwarmed by the sun and salty from many hands sweeping many times over and over and over the smoothed, wrought surface.
"rad!" yelled roland, spooning banana compote into more bailey's-filled shooters. "RAAAAAAAD!"
[This is a quote that has stuck with me for sometime. A little meme that I play with in my head while watching twin girls play a game of tag.]
Somehow this park leads me to idleness. Unable to see anywhere but inward I remember symbols I've seen in the books I've read.
Somehow this park leads me to idleness. Unable to see anywhere but inward I remember symbols I've seen in the books I've read.
* <- this is K. Vonnegut's symbol for his asshole. For your asshole. Except those who don't have one. Their asshole is their belly button. Weird world.
I get up, walk around, find a place where I can take it all in. A 360ยบ marvel of intimacy and distance.
The red-headed dreamer next to me giggles and reads from her small book. "Pleasure's a sun and sometimes sin's a pleasure." L. Byron wrote this.
I counter with something from the back catalog, something juicy from C. Bukowski. "Sexual intercourse is kicking death in the ass while singing." We both laugh. That's how I feel here. I mean not like I'm fucking a person literally in out in out but that wind feeling. That wind feeling like it gets in my skin. By touching me it takes my warmth and leaves me something more. Equal exchange. Alchemy in motion.
Now we sit together in the sun fervently reading frightened words. All the girls have mud on their jeans. The twins are back, dressed like little butterflies. They mumble in child speak- crazed communication. I don't understand. This cat next to me apologizes for bad poetry. But his squirrel eyeballs me and I dig it. There's a warhead in my pocket. An empty wrapper though, no hard candy to pass the time. I like when your words match your speech. Excpet when they rhyme. We gotta have consonance in the dissonance. We are all having one of those days.
Girl, take me with you down the rabbit hole. We can hear all these new sentences that have never been said before. We can fall in love with all these poets in the breeze.
I get up, walk around, find a place where I can take it all in. A 360ยบ marvel of intimacy and distance.
FROM WAY UP HERE I can see over there.
The red-headed dreamer next to me giggles and reads from her small book. "Pleasure's a sun and sometimes sin's a pleasure." L. Byron wrote this.
I counter with something from the back catalog, something juicy from C. Bukowski. "Sexual intercourse is kicking death in the ass while singing." We both laugh. That's how I feel here. I mean not like I'm fucking a person literally in out in out but that wind feeling. That wind feeling like it gets in my skin. By touching me it takes my warmth and leaves me something more. Equal exchange. Alchemy in motion.
Now we sit together in the sun fervently reading frightened words. All the girls have mud on their jeans. The twins are back, dressed like little butterflies. They mumble in child speak- crazed communication. I don't understand. This cat next to me apologizes for bad poetry. But his squirrel eyeballs me and I dig it. There's a warhead in my pocket. An empty wrapper though, no hard candy to pass the time. I like when your words match your speech. Excpet when they rhyme. We gotta have consonance in the dissonance. We are all having one of those days.
Girl, take me with you down the rabbit hole. We can hear all these new sentences that have never been said before. We can fall in love with all these poets in the breeze.
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