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Thursday, September 29, 2005

I met a person with the most beautiful eyes.
On observation:

I would like to know what is going on here.
I'd like to know why she is in a wheel-chair,
and I'd like to know why his face is melting off.
And I'd like to know why you keep holding this door open.

I want her to know that she'll be on her feet in no-time,
and I want him to know that he has nothing to be ashamed of.
And I want to remind you that it's cold outside,
and well, Sir, you're letting all the cold air in.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Too Bad I Have Nothing To Drink In My Fridge
by R. G. Dewing (9/27/05)

Across miles of salty desert land,
see a teasing glimpse of writhing air,
and (fully knowing that you will die here)
give me one last kiss in exchange for
a mouthful of sand.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

You Went Away
by Norman MacCaig

Suddenly, in my world of you,
You created time.
I walked about in its bitter lanes
Looking for whom I'd lost, afraid to go home.

You stole yourself and gave me this
Torturer for my friend
Who shows me gardens rotting in air
And tells me what I no longer understand.

The birds sing still in the apple trees,
But not in mine. I hear
Only the clock whose wintry strokes
Say, 'Now is now,' the same lie over and over.

If I could kill this poem, sticking
My thin pen through its throat,
It would stand crying by your bed
And haunt your cruelty every night.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

My darling dearhearts,
I know you deserve more than these random, unoriginal one-liners. I feel tonight as though we are all on even ground: me, you, The Man... The plan? I've completed two of the essential modern American mid-west college girl rites of passage:
1. Piercing of the face.
and
2. Attending a live taping of the Jerry Springer Show.
Needless to say, I might be having a little identity crisis. But in the wise words of Beau of Oklahoma, "You knew what you were getting with when you got with it." It makes life exciting, and I am fortunate. Or lucky. Or both.
<3B

Wednesday, September 07, 2005



The finger that points at the moon is not the moon.

Monday, September 05, 2005

On August 27, 2005 I wrote in my diary:

"I want to be the object of affection
with no implications
and no deeper meaning
and no understanding."

The universe has a twisted sense of humor.

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