A GASP
Hi, best friends. I wanted a best
friend too. All the Rage Italic.
It isn’t cute. From experience he knows
it won’t work and he’s glad.
This is what I need to tell myself by way of reprimand, for I know that
No one hides away like this in this ghost house like me, so prettily lonely to
myself
(unattractive in self-centeredness)
All alone is not so bad this evening because I am not truly alone, but with a
child.
So afraid of false visions.
Distant remunerations of experience.
I
Hit the floor with my feet like the other women in the dance room.
Friend not best, though a best of bests, let me wear a vest, let me beat my
breast, or tap
Umbrellas like a cane and be Fred. I
know how to butter the bread. or Not.
T his is what I write and it is mine and it is happily without rule or
difficulty: lazy.