Monday, May 17, 2010
Draft 1
A violin, a box, a blue envelope. A list poem, the list poems. The list poems from the boys I didn't have. The ones they sent internationally, which is significant. Consider the tongue, fingers, the walking involved. Brief illustrations of events since our parting. Went to Poland with my father. Fell in Love twice. Ate oranges in San Francisco. Sometimes they were accusations of the happiness I've forgotten. Back when you were a dream only I was having. I don't remember their faces now. Shadows in leather jackets or baggy sweatshirts, hoods pulled over the eyes. Maybe they sit together at the bars, unknowing. I'm their common thread. Went to South America. Became an uncle. Did what they did to forget the time when I was a dream only you were having. A clown nose, a photograph, honey dipped bread. Real things are Real things because they simply sop when all wet.
Monday, May 10, 2010
bargaining
I'll give you all the money in my pocket, the rest of my cigarettes, and my first born child
Anything you want.
I'll drive your sister to the airport.
No deal?
I'll stop drinking. I'll stop stealing cars. I'll stop lying about my life of crime.
I'll go to church, I'll wash your car, I'll bring you clean socks from upstairs.
I'll give you cartwheels, expensive suits, flowers, and diamonds the size of my fist.
I'll give you my gmail password.
No good?
I will take pieces of ny times articles to construct clever poems for you every afternoon while you are not yet home but I am waiting. I will be waiting with the cat who does not know he is waiting and for that I am envious. I will put my envy in a jar and save it till I have enough to make a soup for us for supper. The soup will be delicious.
Ok instead
I will no longer be envious. I'll start eating better: my pride, my hat.
I will fold 1,000 paper cranes. I will live secretly in a closet under the stairs, only to appear when needed, for a predetermined sentence of time, a maximum of six years. I will fold my cranes there.
I will begin to read moby dick in silence and not speak until I have finished.
I will apologize to everyone and let them know it wont happen again.
I will call your ex girlfriend and tell her you were right.
We can draw straws. We can shoot for it. You can borrow my gun. ANYTIME.
Ok? Fine.
I will go to the store.
I will buy the milk.
Anything you want.
I'll drive your sister to the airport.
No deal?
I'll stop drinking. I'll stop stealing cars. I'll stop lying about my life of crime.
I'll go to church, I'll wash your car, I'll bring you clean socks from upstairs.
I'll give you cartwheels, expensive suits, flowers, and diamonds the size of my fist.
I'll give you my gmail password.
No good?
I will take pieces of ny times articles to construct clever poems for you every afternoon while you are not yet home but I am waiting. I will be waiting with the cat who does not know he is waiting and for that I am envious. I will put my envy in a jar and save it till I have enough to make a soup for us for supper. The soup will be delicious.
Ok instead
I will no longer be envious. I'll start eating better: my pride, my hat.
I will fold 1,000 paper cranes. I will live secretly in a closet under the stairs, only to appear when needed, for a predetermined sentence of time, a maximum of six years. I will fold my cranes there.
I will begin to read moby dick in silence and not speak until I have finished.
I will apologize to everyone and let them know it wont happen again.
I will call your ex girlfriend and tell her you were right.
We can draw straws. We can shoot for it. You can borrow my gun. ANYTIME.
Ok? Fine.
I will go to the store.
I will buy the milk.
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