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| "Family Portrait" July 29, 2012 |
(1)
I don't know nothing yet. EHHHHHHH–––my hand hits the bedside table. Kills seven minutes–––––EHHHHHHH. Can't do it again. Off the mattress. Buckle belt. I think the mirror says I'm a stallion on a plate, but I can't hear it well without my glasses. Bag. Pencil. Not breakfast. Breakfast is a lonely luxury. I have not time for breakfast. At least, not until noon. Keys. Kiss. Shoes. Funny, I never look at the gas tank. And––JEEZ! I always park crooked. Ho hum, sings the sun behind the wasteland clouds. The imaginary chorus croaking on about how I'm late, but better late than–––"Morning," I say. "Morning" she says. And "Morning" I say. And "Morning" she says. "How are ya," he says. "Morn—good," I say. And "Morning?" I say. And "Yes" I say. "Oh…yes," I say.
(2)
Maria is on the other side of the world. She's an almeja girl and gives you the taste of chocolate melted in milk. We conversed nonsense today.
Maria: "What's the lilac tree that seeks behind the cabin?"
Me: "With the warlock leaves. Unease.
"Eavesdropping as the bird calls accuse the glutton
"Who makes and takes like the town's teasing temptress."
Maria: "A crumb that fills upon her liver as a growing tempest."
(3)
Sophia is still on this side of the world. She looks out your window and holds your hand when her heart talks. We conversed nonsense later that day.
Sophia: "Mean mister milquetoast."
Me: "Spreads mustard on his own toes."
Sophia: "At a rhythm keeping with his
"Mega-highs and super-lows."
Me: "Goodbye, hi, good luck, hello
"Isorhythmic undertone."
Sophia: "In pantone 242
"Such a super pretty cosmic blue!"
(4)
My mom and dad and sister and I have formed a book club. Today we read and discussed the first half of F. Scott Fitzgerald's "Winter Dreams." We've all agreed to read the second half for tomorrow.
And I have five flattened pillows waiting on my bed and a golf club in the covers.
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