SINGLE. SOLITARY. WORD.

i've only tonight started
responding to pictures of you.
not in earnest, of course.
just like how we all talk...
to pictures.
sometimes.
yeah.
ok.

Hey! It looks like sun!
It is! There are a million of us
Just wandering in the lobby
Waiting for our turn out that
Massive revolving door.

Some are just going around
And around. Laugh it up, asshole.
Some of us actually want out!
Some of us miss the heat on our cheek
Our lungs full of it.

Throw my arm out in a point
And wedge through the crowd.
We're all wide-eyed over each other
I make a break for it
Yeah, whatever, Buddy. Excuse this.

And it is all it's cracked up to be
It really is. Every minute of it.
I could stay out here forever
Hours, Days, Weeks, Months...
It burns my skin like love.

But here they come.
Back inside, you. Back inside.
A sharp jab in my side
I'm going! I'm going! Christ.
Give a girl a moment.

But there it was, and there it went.
Like a firecracker.
So brilliant and hilarious in its heat
Now it's burned-up cardboard.
And we all line up, looking back.

Back inside. Back inside.
Feel that draft of plastic air
Cherish the heat in your skin
In your hair, on your lips
It's gone before you know it.

I have, as always, an overactive imagination
There is little that can enter my mind without
Being taken apart, hollowed out, filled with sugary make-believe
And put back together.

When I met you, my workshop was out of work
But not nearly out of order, you see --
I've been more frustrated lately. I have
Far less patience for your kind.

I'd been making mountains into molehills for years,
Sweeping every exciting moment out of the way
None of it mattered, none of it counted. None real.
And I was prepared to keep it up, honestly.

Of course there were smaller things that happened here and there
Where someone would catch my eye and
The elves would go back to work slowly, begrudgingly
Then throw their tools in the shed. Nothing.

But...then. Don't ask me why. The light went on.
I think my surprise lent to my curiosity.
And it was red. And the workshop clocks ticked
The hum and machinery rocked into full tilt.

So here I am, perfectly still but with this
Dream Factory crunching in my head, thinking -
What if your mind looks like mine? The shreds
Of paper, I'm sure, can wait until later.

Late-ish one morning, the heat like a blanket,
Your face is all mirrored and bright
I have wondered at my inability
To make my mind known every night.

It's all very well now you're leaving. You have
Plenty of things on your mind.
And I have the leisure of waiting to see
If I cross it from time to time.

And that isn't all that I'm thinking, you'll note
As my reverie comes to the point.
I'll be hanged if I'll allow loose ties to bind
Or a fancy to disappoint.

So go on and be what you're most willing to
Pay no mind to my whimsical thought.
For just as the others go thither and fro
I'd just as soon like you as not.

But it is worth the thought, I suppose, for now
So I linger to watch it grow.
And in the event that it does no such thing
I'll most eagerly let it go.

And even as words flow onto the pages
My eyes understand what they see
A few dozen attempts at a mock indifference
And hardly a word about me.

For it's easy enough to say all these things
Even easier to write them all down
The old heart, however, will wash them away
At a moment, a word, or a sound.

So i'll just be a tired young lady and sport
A big smile for all that I see,
But you are the one I'll be thinking about
When I lay down my pen finally.

It’s as if you awoke the sleeping giant
A giant child with eyes like spoons
Reflecting everything distorted, inaccurate
The eyes I had for years
Sleeping in wait of some
Blundering inspiration.

In their half-asleep stupor they
Stumble around the room and fall down
Skinning their eyeball knees on some
Rough, aged edge or another
Yet they can’t be taken off yours
This is peculiar.

You seem free enough, happy enough
To give my spoony, warped mirror eyes
A fair enough glance, albeit short-lived
Because you must know it’s dangerous
I’ll contract my old vertigo in
This ancient funhouse

The bandages off her old wounds
The giant girl lumbers through your lawn
Misstepping through chords and guitar strings
Tripping on something there is
There is something. There is!
She just waits to fall into it.

when someone drives over the sewer lid
outside my window, it makes a knocking sound -
a hollow metallic introduction
someone is beckoning the street
make room for me in your house, Daejam
i'm coming in.

if i heard such a knock and such a cry,
i'd make them more than welcome here in mine.
a dirty kitchen, an oscillating fan
what more could they want?
a little first-pancake homemade gimbap
and we're sorted.

i've almost forgotten the smell of laundry
and how to bake and how to drive a car
but i eat green things and sew clothing -
i've made one skirt -
so i think i'll have some things to take
back with me.

from one street to another, hollow out your world
and make a place for me to fit back into mine
somehow i will make this broken puzzle
fit together without corners
i'll hem the edges with teal string, and put it
back in the box.

There once was an old man from Guelph
Whose "appetite" sat on a shelf
He took it all down
When Miss Jay came to town
And spilled it all over himself

Now she was a pretty young thing
With hair like a raven in spring
She lured him quite rightly
And dealt with him nightly
While he deftly screwed up everything

i just can't get these words out of my head so i'm going to put them here...i might elaborate on them later.



Hey! Grass-stain lady!
Yeah, that's right.
Your mother told us you're
twenty-four.
Now, give us back
our lemonade!