- an apology
- the dreary ache of fluorescent light in a wong kar wai movie
- having feelings and owning feelings are different things
- lesson: no scrubs
- crep back to me
- fwd my mail to mtn. view cemetery
- i’m gonna vomit
Modern break ups:
a red Yankees cap on the freeway
only you would get the joke
i want to forget but
i found yr college essay in my childhood bedroom
and drive by yr old haus
three days a week
suggestion: based on people you follow
bitter algorithms like a mouth full of pennies
seasoned with baking soda
last night i went to a rap show and took some MDMA
not euphoric but silken and quiet
my brother won’t stop vomiting
he says it hurts his teeth
i will consume an entire cow
then sweep piles of blood and drool
i had a lizard but a set it free
"I AM DYING TO SEE THE OCEAN” she said
and then there was honey all over her hands and nose and teeth and mouth
and i took off my shirt and cleaned it off
in the shirt pocket was a list that said
a scavenger hunt to cure yrself:
something with purple that glitters
something pink and sweet
fire that makes you feel confident
a book with a cat on it
someplace to read that book
that haven’t been maintained
from that science faire
what was it?
in ninety eight
you grew too fast overnight
and all yr shirts had shrunken
to show yr belt
and yr arms
ribbons of poster board
about the waterstain
upon the hard wood floors
once upon a time
you were a rainbow
before you took up
bleach as a hobby
a year ago,
i was swimming
a year from now
does not exist
i went to repark my car on my lunch break and i spotted a tow truck parked in the corner of the rite aid parking lot. instantly i cursed at myself because i was not in the mood to deal with my car getting towed, but then i noticed the truck was too docile, not rushed enough to be there moving anything.
the guys in the car noticed me trying to assess the situation and said hey. i started talking to them and noticed they were smoking a blunt, so i asked if i could smoke and chill with them for a second.
the weed was perfumey and sour. i hadn’t smoked a blunt in months, but it wasn’t as harsh as a swisher, just some berry flavored wrap thrown in yr bag from the corner weed joint. the kind of thing we used to pass around parties in high school. eagerly displaying our mature drug prowess with a medley of flavors and strains.
the guy in the driver’s seat was clearly running the show and he introduced himself to me as greg in an eastern european accent. he asked me what i did and i told him i write.
"what sort of stuff do you write about?"
he then tried to tell me he could introduce me to an orthodox friend of his who “makes a lot of donations” and “has a lot of connections in the art world”. i told him that sounds interesting, but i’d have to think about it. to myself i though, fuck that. i wasn’t really looking to make an friends with balkan mafioso today.
greg’s quieter friends laughed. they were baked and had tapped out on this blunt several passes back. greg continued to talk. he then told me that he had been “somewhere else” for the last 12 years, which lead me to believe he had been in jail. my assumption was correct.
greg continued. he said the charge was for kidnapping someone but it was a misunderstanding cause he was just trying to get the girl to go someplace private with him so they could talk.
ugh. this is why you should never talk to strangers, kelby.
i took another puff from the blunt and greg asked me for my phone number. i told him i was ‘gay as fuck’ but put a fake in his phone just so i didn’t ruffle any feathers. i got into my car and drove away, suddenly wishing that the creepy russian didn’t take down my license plates.
so, now i have to find a new place to park, but at least i didn’t get kidnapped.