the writing

Chapter One

peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
orange juice in glass mugs
they were pretty and handsome
and sang to me through the television
plaid skirts were thin and itchy
and yellow blouses clung to every imagines bulge
years of quiet and anger
spent climbing to the white and purple caps
in the church.

Chapter Two

crested the mountain
and among the bricks and mortar
was the orange and the blue
the daily routine of it
jeans were comfortable
but the bulges weren't imagined anymore
idealism and unrealistic goals
things I'd given up wanted when I was little
waiting to move
waiting to think
waiting to participate
walking to the end of it
unable to escape it

Chapter Three

dust in my sneakers
from the dirt path
outside the haunted hall
downwind from the new pavement
in the evening in late summer
and only late summer

Chapter Four

Back to the dream
back to the goal
back to the mirror
fingertips on the barre
first
second
third
fourth
fifth
repeat on the left
eager to impress
just her
only her
sheer infatuation
in love and happy
but miserable and sick
first
second
third
fourth
done.
no repeats

Chapter Five

Read
Write
Read
Write
make it up as you go along
get lost in the routine
sandwich, water, banana,
something sweet
walk the turning
non-linear
non-lateral
cross-town 16 blocks
then run for the train
that leaves where you are
20 minutes after you left where you were
one wait two
one wait three
repeat
two hours in
two hours out
two hours in
unpack
20 minutes under the river
until the money runs out
two hours out
stay out.

Chapter Six

Grab at straws
grab one
examine
consider
bend, crease, decrease
set aside
repeat
repeat
repeat
repent

Chapter Seven

she arranges things in neat little piles
this goes here and only here
that goes there and only there
places things just so
tries new places as she gets comfortable and bored
examines words
uses words
skin to skin
face to face
lips to lips
warmth
fear of cold
warmth

Chapter Eight

...

damn...

nothing but songs stuck in my head just now-
awful, modern-pop crap and over-played lyricists that whine and croon
about people who aren't nice
to people who aren't loved now but will be... eventually-
and children roll by in strollers ,
ignored and petulant,
and I keep forgetting to admit
my mother was right,
I am allergic to cats.