Wednesday, June 22, 2011

For Pride and Pleasure and to Attack

The only way to handle so much fear is through repression yet the seams are obviously strained. My jaw aches and I hate dentists. Come down the ladder slowly, it's the only way.

The long drive to New Jersey punctuated only by coughs. Plastic lawn furniture, wind chimes, robin shit near the garden. You were saying?

For what lies beyond the nightmare? Baroque semicolons, mavens of language. Wild roses sag in the rain.

I woke to write and yet each sentence bulged with the one I wouldn't allow. Mismatched chairs a sign not of creativity but poverty and poverty is not a spiritual discipline anymore. You have to risk everything.

You want to wake up not write about waking up. We flipped through LPs, lost for what to talk about. Your flea market is my empty picture frame.

My board game? Consider rebuilding the stone walls all sinking and sagging around the farm. I'm thinking of shooting a moose again.

Once lovely, now just coffee. We invented our bodies for pride and pleasure and to attack other people so what did you expect?

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