[ Thursday, August 12, 2004 ]
bukowski's in bed with us
at 4:23 in the morning.
we have just unhinged
our hips & now
a poem for old snaggletooth
roots through the sheets.
first e.e, now bukowski--
this bed will see many men,
all with the ability
to make my eyelids
stutter.
Yesterday was one of those days--I opened the door, stood on the porch, began walking to my car. Coming down the steps the air was absolutely clear. As soon as my feet hit the sidewalk, I felt the first few drops of rain. It was absolutely beautiful yesterday. I had plans to watch the meteor shower. Yesterday evening, apocalyptic clouds moved in. They didn't move out.
Coming home from Shoemaker Ridge, a yellow mustang almost took my ass out. A little further down the road, I met another car hell bent on becoming car #53 in the Shoemaker Ridge Pile 'Em Up. Now I'm thinking I need a big ass camo truck with a dozer blade on front. Road Rage? Nah. Just thinking about making this world a better place...the best that I know how.
When I got home I ran a bath. Ten minutes later, I found the tub empty. Beautiful, beautiful. I just felt like giving up.
I didn't.
And a rather blah day turned into 6 a.m. discussions about Jackson Pollock, art, poetry, web design, the insides of us. Pieces of paper exchanged, words scrawled, crossed out, numbered, inhaled. It felt good to share those things. To really share those things. Early in the morning. In a little house. In Grassy Creek.
~ Rebecca 7:32 PM [+]
"Little house in Grassy Creek" sounds good from Little house on cold coast. Bath Tubs are great in my book. Cars, trucks and jerks are not. Thanks for the glimps of your world. Hope all is well.
By 
Salt Water, at
11:34 AM
