Wednesday, October 24, 2007

I don't know why things happen.

I think you can pretend you do.

Some things annoy me, and I think about why.
What it all means.

I think about salmon, and the idea of being cool, and what a fire means.

What does it mean when he takes off his shoes, his socks?
What does it mean when the unread books pile up, but I write four poems?

It takes something to be real.
Something to be grounded.

Here comes gravity,
the big stupid apple ready to hit us all over the head.


Mary said...

I miss you. What are you doing this weekend? I want coffee smoothies and I want to walk you to the train late at night. I will call you...

Kelly said...

yes mary, please do call.

i work friday night.
no plans saturday.
going to shawn reed (of racoo-oo-oon) art show sunday.

all of these days are good.