Wednesday, February 29, 2012


couldn’t nap because I remembered how I used to feel in my grandmother’s kitchen,
the floor tiles themselves brimming with possibility

I am drinking alone on my day off at 4:20pm, sitting at the kitchen table 
and listening to ‘sugarcube’ by yo la tengo and thinking about youth
while the snow falls onto unseasonably warm driveways

the driveway grows thoroughly white and it looks like someone has dragged their big foot 
around to spell QUEER in large letters in the snow behind my car
[which is either a coincidence or it is not]

there is a barn in the back of my house and to the left; I like to meditate 
while looking at the snowy barn from the kitchen window

also directly behind my house there is an enormous pile of inexplicable shit
a junk pile including an open truck trailer 
where midnight animals fuck and get warm

I attempt to cover my favorite songs on my guitar but all the tabs online are inaccurate
and I get frustrated, sitting indian-style on my bed and my laptop heaves in labored breaths

am I waiting for my lap to catch aflame without knowing it, wearing greasy hair 
wired into my scalp and/or smiling at the glowing phone words via 
one (1) s. roggenbuck, via one (1) rachel

I am thinking that my generation seems uniquely horny for a nostalgia that doesn’t exist

I am thinking that I want to console my generation

also I am thinking that I am just regular horny
for sex and for the floor tiles of my youth
and particularly the way the sunlight behaves in memories, warm and wildly sincere

if I try really hard to focus on the 2012 Sunlight, to strip it of all my post-adolescent
subconscious assumptions about the world being a cold dead place, then

the sunlight is still behaving famously, and the day looms charming and undone,
my reticence is a result of my belief in my reticence and I am trying to have desires

today I tweeted “according to your deepest desires” to someone and then I thought
“I don’t get those anymore, except maybe to eat sugary foods with impunity”
“to have sex with someone I connect with”

I am trying to enlist all the parts of myself that could love 
myself, and therefore you

I am rife with life-excitement, ready to admit desires in text,
can you relate to the statement I’m about to make:

I want to be with you in the snow,
I don’t want to out-invulnerable you.

snack time in my bed; where are you

almond milk in a bowl; where are you

important parts of me are buried beneath the idealisms of childhood,
and you watched them sleep til I was awake again, beside you

I would have sex with you again, even if it meant I had to shower
I would have sex with you for eleven hours, fall into a moodless, dreamless sleep
I am guessing that love is mostly the excitement of knowing someone 
while also remembering to know yourself 

I am looking through the window and the night is acting beautiful
at my laptop I am recruiting people for the new nostalgia: remembering love
at my laptop I am writing
“love me in moderation; my kidneys are in a dumpster somewhere”

1 comment:

  1. "the floor tiles themselves brimming with possibility"

    I love this.