[untitled]

i don't like the word "mixture."
it creeps me out.

"combine the low fat mayonaise with the prepared mustard and honey. add sliced chicken breast too the mayonaise mixture."

*shudders*

it's like the word "ward." i get chills. I don't know if i'm really even sure what "ward" means, but when i hear it, i think of peeling, dirty seafoam paint, and rust, and, illegal abortions on edwardian era mental patients...who are also zombies.

i think of nurses, i feel nauseus, i have to change the channel, that kind of thing.

define: ward.

• a person who is under the protection or in the custody of another
• a district into which a city or town is divided for the purpose of administration and elections
• block forming a division of a hospital (or a suite of rooms) shared by patients who need a similar kind of care; "they put her in a 4-bed ward"
• English economist and conservationist (1914-1981)
• English writer of novels who was an active opponent of the women's suffrage movement (1851-1920)
• United States businessman who in 1872 established a successful mail-order business (1843-1913)
• guard: watch over or shield from danger or harm; protect; "guard my possessions while I'm away"
• cellblock: a division of a prison (usually consisting of several cells)

see? exactly. i don't want to talk about it anymore.

*         *          *

a few nights ago at tori's, i was high as a kite. i didn't know you could even get that high smoking weed. i don't know how long i was out, either, but it was several hours, because by the time i regained the ability to merge real life with the dream that i thought i was having (that i wasn't, because in fact, i was still awake), it was light out.

"please don't remember this" i begged her, bent over a piece of brownie i kept calling--believing was "cake."

"your shoes are just like The Wizard of Oz." i said, but it doesn't make sense.

"your n*****s" i'd told her, "they're different."
"what?"
"from how they were...you took your jewelry out."
"yeah, they wouldn't heal."
"i like them. i thought they were really great. they're better, now, i didn't know they could be better...than they were."

i came. mostly i did it all myself, that's the lame thing about tori, you kinda have to f**k her and then just, f**k yourself. she's shy or something, i don't know. i didn't even care. my brain fell asleep, drifted into dream land, and woke up again every thirty seconds for about the past five hours. i remember thinking "prom night" was "bring it on." i kept referring to the african american prom king and queen as "the ghetto squad."

and sara slept. the deep, self medicated sleep of a newly dumped, once again, living doll. i woke up and moved around. got out of j's bed i fucked tori in, down onto the couch, and she came with me, then left, then her baby woke me up, then back to sara's bed--

she moved over, (like a sister)
woke me when several hours passed
she was wearing that wall paper dress,

"good morning" she said, in her desperate kind of love
stroking my arm,

we went to the langhorne concert
but she didn't look at him

or the girl from Talking Heads behind me,
she just cried, called me mama,
sang "sweet olive tree"

*          *           *

i wanted to write mattE a poem after i went down stairs after i woke up the first time. i spent a while at the fridge rearranging those little word magnets you get at barnes and nobel, and i thought i had something to say. it went kind of like:

hey, i know i never write you poems, but today i felt like it. i realized after i had boring sex with tori how much i like being with you.

i mean, i didn't "realize" it. i already knew that, but it just reminded me.

remember when i gave you the post card of the asian couple in the garden, and i gave you that maurakami book that i wrote in? i remember writing in it, i saw a boy that day that i thought could have been my child, but i think he was older than me. i remember thinking i didn't know what to write in it, that was the last anniversary present i'd ever give you, and how ever since then i'd wondered, when you put it in me, whether or not that'd be the last time, i always thought it probably would be.

but then, even though i told you that i had sex with that guy, and you hated me, you came to live with me in my little studio with the kitchen in the closet, and i'd come home and bring you drinks, and you'd read a lot. so i loved you again. and then i had to save you, on our four year anniversary, remember that?! when you got arrested!? and we walked around the city. 

and then i came home, and you were there even though you hadn't been, and, then my mother died, and weren't you there? the night she died, you were holding me, and you held me that morning. i remember thinking we were both birds, me and her.

sometimes i'm selfish and sometimes i feel wild, but i like being around you. more than anyone else. so much, even, that i let you be alone, too.

most days, i love you more than i did the day before, and sometimes it's less, but rarely. i bought you these cat cufflinks, you said "look at the little paws!" i knew you'd say that.

but it's not even just that i love you, i mean, i love everyone. but i like you. a lot.



...something like that.

Reviews

[blue cave]

I like the chaotic stream here...
however, dare I say...
sometimes it's a little MIXED up
the refrigerator magnets seemed to help you get your voice...
maybe go back to them