in a towel. no, a cavern. i woke you up. i shook your feathers. lice crawled out onto the floor.
on a rock. a distant shore. you ate me up. i was something smaller and you ate me up.
with terrible pause. i sat in your circle. you said don't leave this circle or you'd kill yourself. and it wasn't fair.
in a barrel. niagara falls. i was part of your stunt. i didn't want to be part of your stunt.
i was raised in a cabinet with fire ants. i was raised in a shoe above the pacific ocean. we slept on trampolines. we started up faulty machines. we tilled soil. battered down fences. built crooked things.
on schrader blvd in hollywood a few buildings from the ywca i was 22. she was older. a secretary or something. she had all this pop art decorating her apartment that she made but didn't believe in like she needed to. she told me she had been hooking up with a guy who was a real ladies man. she had tan lines where her bikini once was, shading beige to outline pale white. her hair was curly. earlier that night i approached her and said i believed she was the female version of me. then hours later i couldn't get my dick hard for awhile. i was nervous or drunk or something. finally i did in the morning but after a terrible night of nervous limp sleep. and when i did finally get it hard she said something like finally. something like that's what i'm fucking talking about. and then she sang opera beneath me for the neighbors. and then i finally left and walking into summer and along hollywood blvd it must've been like 136 degrees fahrenheit outside.
do you remember it that way. how the past was blazing and showing no evidence of hope. but how we hoped anyway. or how i hoped anyway. i'm talking to myself
