The last time
we made love
I thought of birch trees.

Those still, white deceptive deaths.

It made me want to bend or break
Or to collapse from my own strength.

We pretend we are too hard for this
But our defenses litter us like curls of paper.

We would deny the roots that push
Their slow way
In and through
In and through us.

Even now, my thoughts of it shake slightly.

And so become
As green and perfect as leaves.

A Zuihitsu

    1 Stephen Malkmus enjoys the letter W way too much.

    6 I thought I saw a bird fall out of the sky outside my window.  I couldn't fully convince myself that it was not a bird, it was a branch, with wet dark leaves stuck to either side of its wingspan, making a perfect nose dive.

    15 Things I hope I won't have to worry about today:

        hair
        human trafficking
        the unbalance of language
        my friends in their disintegrating relationships
        disintegrating relationships
        sexuality
        running out of soap
        feeling the need to repeat myself
        losing her attention
        losing
        losing borrowed clothes
        dry lips
        peanut shells everywhere
        morning, afternoon, evening
        disintegrating

--------

    2 We have more than one of these stupid mirrors, palimpsests through which we can judge ourselves.  Should we?  Do we owe more to time, or to sequence?  Who, exactly, is helping us?

    8 I'm not wearing socks.

    9 A woman waves at a car pulling away from the curb.  She makes one pass at the porch with the broom, and stops to lean against the doorframe after the car is out of sight.  How long had she been waiting for them to leave?

    11 Slow.                                                                                                                                                                                             Again.

--------

    10 My friend's puppy puked 3 times in the hallway of their apartment.  3 Distinct, unequal reactions:  drag the dog the hell out of the bedroom in case she starts puking again; clean up the mess before it stains; console the dog.  She's resting her head on my knee now.  She is beautiful when she's calm, and tired.

    12 I want leverage.  I want to answer my own questions.  I want blue where there is black.  I want to trust that I can close my eyes and sing something that makes me feel worthy of forgiveness.  I want spray paint highs on overpass lows.  I want nausea.  I want to choose one side.  I want to sleep, on a bus, sleep through days, sleep through places, through the same 3 colors over and over again and never lift my feet from the floorboards, ever.

    13 What's the worst part about me, dog?  Is it the arrogance?  Or the sincerity?

February, 2013

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