There were eleven years between us
I carried your knees
in the crook of my elbow
kept your breath in time
to the slap of my feet
down the dirt path home.

am i rough enough.

her bones hurt. all I heard from her in over 4 years. we sat around poking at the rest of the tomato salad. the breathing part is difficult this time of year I say, especially through the throat. bogged down in tissues, linking my feet over the side of the stove range. all this pausing and scratching will do me no good. superstition and a penchant for difficult crossword puzzles. I had a dream last night that I was hanging out with sleater-kinney. having some really wacky conversation with janet weiss - we sang a rolling stones song - such a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girl hopping around on bended knees - the other sleater-kinnies only mildly amused. before their introduction on stage janet walked up the angled stadium stairs -very movielike, you know that direct beeline where people just evaporate around the sassy leading woman with a bewildered excitement on their round over-exacting faces. at this point she had curly hair (give or take), and to my surprise, made out with me while the band was being announced. wow. I realized during this that my girlfriend was standing behind me, two rows back, but she would most definitely understand. I mean, she once told me she would never turn down harrison ford if he came knocking on her door. with his sly squinting eyes and foxy silver hair. maybe he doesn’t even have silver hair - but sounds accurate to me. then an instant replay of the makeout projected on the big stadium screens. not very accurate - both of us suddenly 6 foot tall shampoo models. curly hair abound. there was a whispering of things in ears. hair model one slipping slipping hair model two a plastic hotel key. and such. ah, dreamland.

15 minutes of what? part one

8:34am

twenty years ago. I don’t think remembering came across one mind. a small envelope of sun staccato off the linoleum floor. hair dye stain stippling the corners. we tried it all. and of course, bleach was the last measure. but when something eats under the surface you have to shred the whole lot. maybe at the very bottom it will still be the same. the first millimeter of linoleum brand spankin new. orange morning - the stubborn class of screens to my left. all day long - one screen or another to stare at and figure the response of. this one, in particular, burns into a headache given about an hour. what I pacify with green tea will usually not prove enough. I think try as I may, there will always be some nagging involved. the utterness of forcing myself from bed. the reminder to buy dental floss. that sort of thing. watching pictures of bird from slits of metallic white blinds. at least now, the sun gets through from most cardinal points. can watch the yellow slide off the slim tree as another ambulance careens its way down denny. I made a big salady-type bowl in class night. how I love clay. the whole dirt aspect. the centering, the opening, the pulling of sides. then there’s the inevitable drying, footing, bisquing. glazing, firing. all those small steps - but you gotta just make a shape you like - that’s the hard part. I want to make a set of pinch cups for spices.. you know, to put near the stove. on a little tray. the cut of a wrist through air - spice, here, pepper, there.

20th and Jefferson

alley

3.31

this much nature
leads to labor.
the till of wet metal all morning.
dividing rows as neat as a comb through grease.

how come it has become
every plan
a neatly packaged evening.
either tea and whiskey
or a million footraces.
we lost our lists this way.
so plucked over by movement
there was no railing
no hold.
divisions offed us
the dirt became a tangle.

victoria as serious sepia.