Plain American Language

I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...

Sunday, April 20, 2008


A few nights ago Malorie and I
were in a class, a raving professor
and his existential thoughts
on snowflake and snowmen cut-outs.
I fall asleep on public transportation.
Lasting things on my tongue:
dryness, a woman, a floor, grain,
footsteps, hands holding, maybe a metal bar.
Sara and I biked in the rain.
Hers was dry, mine soaked and set
leaning in an alley with soft light.
She twisted off. Like how she really did
when we biked in Bariloche.
That was no rainfall. If anything, wind.
If anything blue. A tree. A bump
in the road like a swell in a carpet.
We took no short cuts. In a dream
I woke up from another dream
and went out to search for a friend.
When we reached the top of that hill
the world felt cleaner.

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