Cheeping and garbage, puddles in asphalt. I sip asphalt from the puddles.
Tag Archives: trash
Crow eating garbage next store to next door to my parking spot. Next door.
It is nice to jettison almost all these things. Full garbage cans and full recycling. Being present, remembering myself and my stomach full of gel and wanting to be somewhere else not here not in the parking lot.
I am sleepy I am escapade I am trying and I am embroiled enmeshed in software wanting hard to order paper dreaming of a touch of handmade paper khadi paper and a morning watercolor made in the land of garbage and the land of smells.
The smell of garbage mixes with a hint of lilac this is it I will not write
why don’t we all go home to the drowned home with the backdrop of garbage the white elite the bored the this the that
Mercy
urge to travel I will travel and see wondrous things like towels and bats, howling cats,
prattling monkeys, whale skeletons and towers of ant with garbage backdrop and
insect afterscape
Need well something. I am in need this morning. Some new habit some new privilege to be awake and early writing with backdrop of garbage and the smell of birds
may 17, 2007
This is a false mystery. This is a place. This is an aftermath. This is a play. This is a break. This is a logical diagram. This is handwriting. This is an effort. This is the chirping of a loud bird. This is a GPS. This is too bad. This is a memory. This is garbage. This is unprecedented. This is a portrait. This is a holocaust. This is a small village. This is incurable. This is this. That is that.
april 17, 2007
The coldness of this spring to go out with the trash and breathe a moment in the cold air. To know yourself. I can’t really tell what’s going on. I feel an awful lot like a narrator. I have no story, just to let go of that tail.
The long tail, prehensile.
Happy tail, silly tail. Tail of my dreams.
And also—toil. And toile.
Old fashioned fabrics, what has happened to you? In Girl Scouts, I made a book of fabric swatches trying to learn their names like “Dotted Swiss.”
Restful inconsistencies
emerald generalities
tawdry perpetuities
garbanzo beans and
phony etymologies
a bunch of garbage
Failure rate;
how to increase it
Shake it out the funny duck
the incompetent
with hair of feathers
Fragile—something
she cannot avoid
Secret secret sad sad secret
secretions
I could easily have been married to __ or __ at this point—Jesus fucking God forbid—I could be a tourist down in Costa Rica tormenting monkeys, dropping trash, failing once again to speak the language.
I am accepting that it’s just okay to Not Fit In.
The positions, the choreography of your gestures does not relate to the metrical feet, and though it should. There are metrical feet hiding in the prose, wearing veils. There are hard hearts, hard- hearted orb that rules the night. I am lost. Contemporary. The past. You can ask, you can ask to attach, you can task to attach your trash. There is nothing else to say.