Wednesday, August 10, 2011

free flowers before closing, if you don't mind daisies mixed with roses.

it starts raining, that warm summer kind. so you stand under a tree. talks of lucid dreams and ethics in board games. they want a donation, take two worn dollars from your pocket. they'll play bluegrass all night if you can find them a bowl. stemless wineglass, overpriced art, a bartender that winks at you.

they've got gardens growing in pots on their porch, their kitchen floor, their bathtub. basil and cilantro and tomatoes, life in five-gallon buckets.

positive thoughts, she says, positive thoughts. dreams of meditation and uninterrupted sleep. the river looks beautiful from here, open the windows and don't forget to feel it. lightning strikes the porch but it's okay because it makes it all feel surreal. like you're in a story that you know will end well.

Thursday, August 04, 2011

on a walk one night before the rain


books are in the back, coffee up front. you walk in empty, you leave full. you walk in heavy, you leave light. eternal return. you look for glimpses of what you’ve been waiting for, but it’s never there when you expect it.

three men straddle the brick wall by the library. six-pack of woodchuck divided evenly, side by side. shooting the shit. they contemplate their day and their women and their existence between cigarettes and catcalls. someday they’ll figure it all out, but not tonight.




an old woman presses her nose against the glass, vintage dresses in a shop window. when she closes her eyes she can taste yesterday. a little girl, crawling on her hands and knees looking for her chalk balloons on the sidewalk. thought they would be there forever, but they must've flown away. you be yesterday, i'll be forever. you be chalk, i'll be fading fabric. we are the same, we are flying away.



five mailboxes all in a row, 1-2-3-4-5. a-b-c-d-e. roundabouts, one ways, dead ends. you’ll find me after the cemetery, after the train tracks, before the river. phantom pianos and lightning striking the porch, just to make sure you're awake.

gutted building, broken windows, first floor rented out for real cheap. it took so many years to get here, this used to be a mill, you know. now it’s for ghosts and beggars and it's just where you want to be.

Tuesday, August 02, 2011

bakery

Did you walk by my apartment? she asks. I heard you through my window. Were you going to The Church?

No,
I say.

I'm on the top floor, above the bakery. I thought I heard you. I thought I heard your voice.
She sounds fragile now, after all these years.

It must be nice,
I say. Living above a bakery.

It makes life too sweet, everything seems to be covered in sugar now. Everything. My fingers, my chairs, my thoughts.
She coughs on the other end.

It was nice talking to you,
I say.

Let me know if you ever do go. To The Church. We can steal cakes from the dumpster behind my apartment. So let me know.

I will,
I say.