No Pussyfooting played again, and again, and again. this exquisite state of aloneness. i am safe, and i can do whatever i want. and whatever i want becomes simple. the unfortunate habit of avoiding what i most need. at night i take the bus 26 stops down san pablo and hit the heavy bags until i can’t lift my arms. how to wrap your hands: three times around the knuckles, slip it off, good, now...
two things, he told me, that i should remember. but i only remember the second. “if you live outside the law, you will have to be honest.” it’s either dylan or lennon. i like the unspoken part. you’re going to try to live outside the law. you will. you will. with all the other romantic dogs. los perros romanticos los perros norteamericano. -letter from R
I am not bathing, am I depressed? Brush my teeth and wash my ass in taquerias across the Mission. Or in the bathrooms of hometown restaurants in quaint sea side towns. Or in the late summer slug slow rivers. Or where ever the hell I am. My ability to cope with loss is stunted. My heart is an infant, and she sleeps, and she sleeps.
woke up with legs that felt too vacant to walk. i have learned to keep my self contained. the people who know me live elsewhere. you’ll have to ask them.
Autumn tinted lips; tart apples and malbec we pass across the delicate skins. Still hot here for another month. Still? I mean, the hottest. The light is shorter sure, but the concentration of the heat swells and darkens. The ripening of the pregnancy. Dreams have shifted to mild alternate realities, scenarios that are one horrifying whisker shy from what could be. Our ruler is in retrograde....