dear world
Dear world,
It’s nine o’clock everywhere. No number of “no”s knows what you need. Any old checkered tablecloth versus the one your great grandparents had on their kitchen table. A quick taste of another language to spice things up, and then back to the familiar. Oh how I adore your toes. And mountains in your mashed potatoes. The leather-bound edition of your funniest story. Let’s revise and edit this paragraph together, like two colorful cockatoos preening in the golden dawn. If I had some rope right now, I don’t even know what I would do with it. When I was younger someone made stone soup once with real stones, and it smelled very strange. I hardly know the first thing about how my body works, but I am so intimate with my body of work that sometimes I think we’re in love. Mold grows in glass jars, support beams buckle under centuries of mysterious circumstances. Last night in a dream two alligators came dangerously close to children and I rushed in to save them; later the couch I was floating on turned out not to be seaworthy and to my horror half sank, taking half my body with it into the gloom of some dreaded swamp. I've hardly moved in years. Every time I lie down I think “I don’t like this pillow” or “this is just the kind of pillow I was looking for.” If the Sun ever explodes, all the trash bags buried in dumps will be vaporized as well.
~
2017 - 2021