|
serious
man I'm serious it'll be the best time to come. leaves will change
wonder how walk around the block. To walk around the bog block
it's all before night sitting and waiting but carpet looking so
comfortable. and the bedtime, dreaming how that girl the American
on the node: sure, no problem, sit down and write that novel. two
weeks, working.
Mommy
you're so un changing it scares me, and we never talk.
[they
dont make the choice for you to be old, you make me it.] the
responsible the fragile, and music comes second by children and car eer
err. house with four walls, so much together time trying to keep
learning good for you? why bother.
mustache
and all i'm a science boy, always a science man. the satisfaction
of exactness the domestery and my commute is downtime, your writing is
crappy. curry and rice and all things nice never to grow up and be
like making that kind of choice. get over what? oh.
"give
it a rest, old man."
Christ
mas christ well what's it worth well we'll get that apartment.
friend. me, crying about going back to public school and only oh
if only to rewind 2 weeks just two weeks, that first day of break that
snow. that potential. to give all three of them roses and take
credit for them. Standing Up for yourself, boy. No
Fighting. you went into my locker and you broke my glasses.
75 minutes, cooking it off. sure you will.
the
yummy sound was like the knowing glance. [sure, things are fine
here, except me NEVER choosing to go to Belgrade and me NEVER being
inside your head. stop smoking.] And he found that girl, and
curry and spice and all things, did you forget. you LIVE comedy,
and you always WILL. just play the game, silly karma, tricks are
for
"I
just want to sit and read the paper and unwind."
there
are one of us, so the dishes pile high, gleaming with tiny droplets of
olive oil and sometimes staining the counter. there is a little
spot by the toaster where, over this single year, the smooth white
formica
of our counter has worn right through thanks to the collective hours of
scrubbing and sponging. we pile the pans and plates onto
this spot and sometimes I wait until later to wash them. the bits
of stir-fry are colored bright and the kitchen resonates with the
flavors of supper and the darkness of my artwork and the sound of the
dishwasher slowly whirring.
|