Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Inverse Antennae


I clipped my clip to my shoplift shorts and lost it in the woods. I would've traded back. I couldn't go back. Every bite was becoming a great white welt, stretching my skin until I couldn't bend. The poison was spreading all the panicky folds of brain tissue. There was only one thing to do: cut my hair.

I lost it all and left it all behind. I have locks of Laura's hair still wrapped in foil. What would I do with my own?

The girl who kisses and tells and tells and tells could evade them no longer. Walking home I counted tallies: no, yes, not sure, yes, yes but straightened, no, yes, yes. Since then the count's up. One's the one I see but can't have, one's the one I have but can't see. One I stay in with, one I could go out with. I'm banking on minds beneath curls, but I am falling in love with falling markets.

The wind into the city is bold in my face. I hate pickles until April fixes them with chedder and tomatoes and I hate year's end until spring returns.

1 Comments:

Blogger indiejade said...

This is some great stuff! Keep writing. ;)

December 13, 2008 11:39 AM  

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