inner monologue

waiting waiting waiting you missed a day waiting waiting waiting waiting waiting waiting the blinds are broken now waiting waiting how does this work waiting waiting waiting waiting and again waiting to say something waiting to say anything waiting to bring forth spirit from a cup that's already broken waiting waiting waiting waiting ring.

as a matter of course

just when i'm trying to forget you, your name shows up everywhere. books, blogs, classroom discussions, newspaper articles, speeches. everywhere smart. and i feel so dumb. speechless. i feel it.

avant la lettre

this is the trouble. there are always things to be named, things to be understood, things to be categorized. things to call and to be called. time does it, at times. time alone. before the words are made, though, what are we calling? what are we? what is?

it's all rushing up and up and up

when i woke up this morning, the second time, i had nearly fallen off the bed that's really too big for only me and was glad, for a moment, that i didn't have a smaller one. then i wished again for the cedar twin that patiently holds all the stuff in my old bedroom to hold me up now, in this one, because i'm falling all the time. those people lie when they say one falls into love. they lie when they make it sound pleasant, like a tom petty song.

things i forgot but then remembered, sometimes immediately, sometimes less so.

to call my mother to check the voicemail to lock the door to feed the cat to pay the phone bill to take my coffee cup with me to stop spending so much money on coffee in the first place to enter an essay contest to email my advisor to make a decision on my own to be my myself to take my lunch to make something healthy for dinner to eat anything at all to sit up straight to listen to have a conversation to turn off the heater to turn off the porch light to turn off my insides and outsides.

dark circles

listening to mickey avalon and brewing chamomile tea. i look incredible this morning, aside from my eyes. my hair is perfect. today is opposite day, i guess. this is neither insightful nor inspiring. just words, all i have, and all i ever did. in a few moments i'll have bags to place over bags, to soak the night away, and words, and him, and words.