portrait. Saturday 11:48am.

____faceless
____fall
____from this
____life & (ah


________TV On the Radio











Leighton Meester and Penn Badgley, Teen Vogue 2007 courtesy suicide blonde


out of the blue you can swoon. for me, my shoulders spread, my back bends, my neck leans in, every muscle contracts. my hands grow hungry, insatiably hungry. my voice grows shaky, i speak in whispers. i breathe erratically.

the rain comes out of nowhere. i'm staring out the window looking at the lake. the texture of the water is changing. it's advancing soo fast. like an eclipse. i want to close the windows, but i can't stop looking. i hear it now. the din of it approaching. the enemy army or the liberators- who ever knows?

the tea sits and nurtures a colony of bacteria no doubt. the books lie limp and frayed at the edges. pens. glasses cases. pens. oh. this is life.

somewhere another planet burgeons.
if it has tulips i will be happy. all i ask for out of life are tulips, and women's lips that feel like tulip petals.

the air in this room is stale. hasn't really moved. it has a beginner-level shadow from the blinds being drawn (too much light will disturb the vampires. the goblins. the creepers and latenight leftover have nowhere.elsetogo dreamscapes- they wait for night to come again to grab the next ride home. (go soundly my dears, we who are lost and wander solute you.

____- how are you?
____- we who wander solute you.
____- what?
____- nothing.
____- that sounded cool though- what did you mean?
____- nothing [everything], i was just playing around [i told you everything, and now i know you will never know me]

i don't know why, but it keeps turning in my head, like an ostinato rythm:

________It takes a village to read a poem.

________The patter of the petunias in the marmalade.

________Everybody's got to be somewhere.

________Save the last chance for me.

________Charles Bernstein from Sign Under Test

the rain stops. it seems too quiet. saturday has barely nudged itself past midday. how i loathe these motionless days. i have soo much i need to read. soo much to find. (there's a lighthouse somewhere... ) the smell of coffee, the the quiet men who sit at midday to drink and read and stare away. the force of the future, with its heaviness. the force of the women who love us, and the women who hate us, and the siblings who miss us and those rarest friends that because of whatever miracle actually understand us.

somebody: spraypaint a piano keyboard a strange colour and send me a picture of it.

Q, go study. you know you need to. this yo ticket outada hood yo. dis yo means to a better life, you wanna live an' die by these streets dawg? pull it together man!

the streets i know are lined by houses. by neat fences. by trimmed grass. the ashphalt grows dark when it rains, and dry and brittle as bone in the summer. the cars that tread are olive-green BMWs and sleek silver Mercedes. yesterday i was running and i saw a lost yellow lambourghini. an alien from another world. i stared it was soo out of place.

(the sun is out there somewhere.
the clouds come and go, kicking some wind as they pass.
it's all wet now.


____everyone's got to be somewhere.

____save the last chance for me.