7.6.09

I dont usually remember names

We were strangers without suitcases
trying to make you remember us
painting "black object with red splotch,"
ready to unload our ideas upon a kid

as if water is what we really wanted
when we asked for a glass of it.

Confessing our devotion to resemblances
on the yellow break dance charts
that we studied by candlelight
like toys caught reading


their own directions.

there are things you should keep to yourself

I’m somewhere in Indiana, along the border of Ohio, sitting on a bench. Staring out at the bars of semi trucks and charts of clouds, I’ve got twenty more minutes until I can leave again for Chicago. This ride has been exceptionally boring because I cannot sleep. I just keep taking drags from this cigarette, outside of this getaway. I feel like I’m looking at the cover of a book.

half of me would rather

run than get

back onto that bus.