emma b. says

Sunday, May 21, 2006

35 and not falling apart

Only dangling pieces and mortar rounds off my belt, well neglected, twirling into blight, because that is what happens when you are not surveying your radioactive halves, there goes a section to the sand dunes, all clubs and spades, that's ocean beach, and threading the middle my own surfer has gone and now he is disappearing into the frothy surf.


Weeks have passed since. Pods of unlikely whales, me and my sneakers wrenching away from your salt water pull, beware those riptides and under toads. And there goes the year, there goes my year unfurling from around the lampost, just another year and just another number tucked into my britches and all of the descriptives I am too drunk to seek out, I've got an engineer I'll roll into, only if he'll have me.

Here I go in front of the mirror, here I am peeling off my birthday dress, here I am curling around your absence.

It's been raining since friday... yeah come and get me I am only and always loosy goosy and four parts sideways, and mostly upside down. I hope you all can see that I have no business being rightsideup, c'mon and roll me right, roll me under

1 Comments:

  • C, I really like your Blog. It's so poetic, and keeps me up to date (I *think*) -- but it's no substitute for the real thing. Let's get together. I miss you.

    By Anonymous Anna, at 11:01 PM PDT  

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