dreams. I get caught up in them thinking they’re real. get caught up in my emotions like that, too. I think something is so real, and then like a bubble it pops in an instant and I’m left storytelling the pieces of it, moving my hands in the air. you know? like this, you know?
I was displaced
an obscure Texas town
on the phone with
my mom telling her
where I was and to
stay on the phone
still we lost
connection and I was
left explaining to a
very kind woman just
what the hell I was
doing in her living room
it had turned night
I was trying to gather
my ransacked scattered
belongings
this had gone from
stepping into a Dunkin’ Donuts
in DC
standing in line to pay for
one single doughnut
to everything changing
into someone’s kitchen
and yet
I believed it all to be so real
so vivid
awake I look back on
the details as absurd
and wonder how I
bought into it
the man who threw my coat and bag into the backyard, what did he represent? a liquid expanse, my belongings submerged, what did that represent? asking for help, was I too cowardly to dive in myself? there was a monster down below, wasn’t there? and such a quick nightfall!
what the hell?
get me back to DC, Roanoke, Philly
Baltimore, Laurel, College Park, Silver Spring
somewhere recognizable
before a
final departure
. . .
Saturday semi-broadcast
“your face is the manifestation of my mind.” I said this to Jaya once, sitting in a restaurant where someone was being really ridiculous or pompous or something and we were reading each others minds, laughing at the whole thing, above it, below it, outside of it.
looking at things from the outside.
if this were Showtime at the Apollo, the Sandman would be out here in a second kicking their asses off the stage. these so-called punk kids. they pile up outside the window and make me feel antsy.
good seeing
you again
at this
late hour
I’m going
to skate
off the loading
dock by
my lonesome
when I go home I’ll listen
to the audio ghost stories of
Zen and the Art
of Motorcycle Maintenance
imagining a camp fire
closing my eyes
drifting to sleep
I’ll salesman
guarantee
you
a
saturday
bridget entry
not making
a whole damn
lot of sense
we try to get out of the house like this. come down to the coffee shop, usually bringing our laptops for the wireless connection, and a few books. it’s nice to be around people every now and then. but it can be annoying too.
they want to talk loudly in large groups, drunk, maybe stir up some fights.
semi-broadcast from a downtown hotbed. c. picked an evil soda for the night, in imitation of the mango. I realize I need to go off alone and devise topics to write about so I can take this in a more serious direction. I admire all these other people for for doing it. it’s about time I set off…
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