Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Stream Letter

Dear deadline days,

He said three years from now all cars will have to meet-

Meet where?

I don't know because he tares these things out of magazines and scotch tapes them to friends.

He spins chewing gum into bridges-

Fragments of larger pieces cut up to symbolize something even more.

Carry me back to ol' Virginia,

Kentucky home.

That's what my friend used to say,

my dark haired friend with the guitar.

She would wail other people's lyrics through her perfect crooked teeth,

In between cigarettes and shots of Jameson,

In between boyfriends and shop hours,

Diplomas and bridal showers.

Except every once in a while she'd write her own,

And it would fit together so profoundly,

Like the folds of a new born's neck,

Disappearing like butter,

On the top of his heart,

In the depths of the starch.

skin and toast

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