perfect ovals
II of IV | December 1, 2003
This will change your life.
I am happiness approaching. That is how he must see me. There are worlds and spaces between us, just as there are between his teeth. He wants nothing more than to be greeted, to be accepted, and to be seen.
In order to best accentuate the obvious lesson here, I must first rewind.
On November twentieth Chicago’s air is abundant with a bitter winter chill. It is warmed only by the sense of human anticipation. I spend the majority of this evening riding on commuter trains. Beginning on the red line, I ride to the Washington stop in downtown Chicago, a subway stop below the infamous Loop. I walk under ground, through a tunnel, over to the blue line stop of the same name. It is here that I catch a train northwest in the direction of O’Hare International Airport.
mermaid fins & star tails
III of IV | December 11, 2003
I KNOW something you don’t know. That is how she greets me. Tiffany Whitmore. Everyday, she greets me with her cute girl smile and her cute girl ponytails and her cute girl shoes that tap against the pavement.
She is always afloat with happiness and always has something to say. She always wants to be a step ahead of me. Her with her maturity. Her mother says that she is ten years old going on twenty-five. Whatever that means. Tiffany pretends not to like me sometimes because I am the type of kid that finds farts amusing. Although, she always offers me bubble gum or lollipops or sugarcoated pretzels, along with a bad joke or a lame piece of gossip or some new piece of intelligence that she picked up from hearing her parents talk over dinner.
The Great American Twilight
For so long as she has been recognizable as an actress, Kristin Stewart has been criticized for one thing, her seeming inability to portray any emotion with her face. This is not a judgement of her nor is it an assassination of her character or a criticism of the Twilight Saga. I have not seen nor read any of the Twilight movies or books. At this present moment I have no intention to do either. This is not a review but rather an observation that I made after reading Linda Holmes’ review of the most recent movie addition to the franchise.
In her review, Holmes writes, “But when a saga popular with pre-adolescent girls peaks romantically on a night that leaves the heroine to wake up covered with bruises in the shape of her husband’s hands — and when that heroine then spends the morning explaining to her husband that she’s incredibly happy even though he injured her, and that it’s not his fault because she understands he couldn’t help it in light of the depth of his passion — that’s profoundly irresponsible.”
disaster with flirting
Sometimes I wonder if from some alternate perspective
if palm trees look like legs,
if the sky looks like the ground,
if the Earth looks like it’s running.
We bend the truth sometimes with the intention of making a point.
Hypothetical penmanship.
The only difference between cursive and italic is intention.
If that’s true than it might seem like I’m changing the subject sometimes
but I’m really just trying to catch up on current events
like, where did you come from?
honesty
Sometimes I spend too much time wondering if a certain somebody knows that they could still be my entire world if they randomly showed up at my door with a frozen pizza.
you are here
This is how I write poetry. One lovely little nugget at a time. This poem, which I have already titled, exists in pieces in a text document that I have been toying with for almost a month now. It’s a good bye letter, an apology and a revelation tied into a metaphor about maps and truck stops and crossroads.
