the air is so cold, now, the pigeons drop down like dud bombshells && collect in small stone piles near rattling empty cups on cobblestones dirty leftover snow in corners outside of train stations // i'm still so tired; stiff neck caught up in pretending to be friends with feather pillows; don't they look so safe and comfortable, yes, but five minutes into loving one you've got a big flat space in the middle and no support system at all && you find yourself flat on your back again just to avoid hearing your own heartbeat thick & scratchy like an old vinyl skipping, pressed hard between your temple && the mattress / these are the things i cannot carry, blondie: 15,000 miles between our backs in a twin bed; can you explain this to me, please, they don't teach us this kind of math in art school;; i am watching the smoke billow up from suburban stacks, up into the sky over the on-ramp like milk released into cold water from the bottom of the glass / slipped in from under the table, like $100 for some curls && a few glasses of wine / what if it was you rising up into the blue over the highway && forming stiff clouds shaped like pigeons and becoming grey;; watch now, we've frozen solid & you're starting to fall-- i gotta get outta here, but i'll leave you this pillow to land on, it seems pretty safe and comfortable, eh,

01/26/2004

Author's Note: usted no sabe para no mezclar los dos; ahora mire, nosotros han congelado el sólido y usted está comenzando a caerse,

Posted on 01/26/2004
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