Wednesday, April 1, 2009


In this night, I want...

fries, I want love, someone to see the tops of my legs in this nightgown and think “wow,” to show you my tan lines, the white swimsuit I have on under all my clothes, to go for a drive, windows down when it’s too cold, I want to paint all of my fingernails black and then pick off all the paint, to wear long white button-up shirts with wide belts, I want to bake, to make jam, to water all of my plants over and over again, ride a silver subway train, read more, read a lot, read an impressive amount, drink some whiskey while eating an apple and listening to Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, to undress slowly in front of someone other than the me in the mirror, to dance slowly with hipbones touching, to count my money, to clash fabrics, to learn what your mouth tastes like, to remember it, to ask for a reminder whenever I’d like, to write something that is about everyone/everything, to not be hungry after I have brushed my teeth, to ignore this growling, this stomach full of wolves, this yearning that is/not you.

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