sitting on this sunshot plane
which
through the misfortune of departure
has become a stale-air tube
stranger-fillled
carrying me back to a life and a home
no longer supporting the weight of either word
I write things. I don’t know what to call them. I’ve never been good at decisions. So, when I write, if I write, anything making it onto paper goes under the heading of the current date and time. Numbered days.
November 30, 2009
nov. 29, 2009 1:43 p.m.
October 16, 2009
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Neutral Milk Hotel’s “The Fool” sounds like a perfect dirge for slogging though a rainy night.
October 7, 2009
sept. 7, 2007 12:27 p.m.
you were wearing a sweater
your hair: sunspun amber against heathered grey
after you left
i stood on your porch
coffee mug warmth soothing nervous fingers
it felt like fall.
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