Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Lovely Offhand

Loosen up and write it out, write to Alison, write in French, write lovely long sentences with your prettiest handwriting, news of your life and the subjunctif. The sale won't take you out, the draft won't let you up, the let won't set you in; fill up three pages double-spaced and pass the time as fast as you can.

I love riding shotgun and I can almost see how I'd like to see it go. I'd be my own greatest hits, acting out, acting under, maybe crazy, weekends until we hate each other to death. I want to analyze your handwriting and disprove your conspiracy theories. I'm more attached the less likely it seems.

Well, affection is lovely, and lovey, you make it sound like we'd make it, easy. I think about time, sealing wax, and sex to speed through the sermon - I'm just the worst. You surface as I slip to sleep, name as I can't see the face, come for me some afternoon.

Sunday, September 09, 2007


Well, surely the sun is brighter than it has been any other day. It's not radiating off the singles sideline and I'm not sick and senitive to light. And truly, that ball is greener than all the rest. It's not the same and that's how I can see we've hit it out.

So that makes it something to think about on my way to retrieve it, and what I'm thinking is that the sun shines every day and I wouldn't be walking here if that ball wasn't just the same as always. And that, you understand, disproves what I was thinking to begin with.

I used to think I'd be better off playing for keeps, but as you'll see no one's got any and I haven't learned to keep score anyhow. Well, if I keep opening doors, I'll surely get out. Well, if I say I'm feeling well, well, will that change a thing?