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By Misti Date: 2004 Feb 22 Comment on this Work [[2004.02.22.04.25.4459]] |
| He feels like he's filling my void with air. Hungry Hungry Hippos. Black hole mouth. Grand Canyon vagina. Starving screaming no junk no methadone just withdrawal shakes and waking nightmares 24/7. Too much of a muchness. He has seen my ebullience turned inside out and is waving away my offer of seconds. No more drama. The clamor for glamor. $120 at the JcPenney's salon on reddish purple hair. Wish lists. Grocery lists. List of priorities. Passport/Peru/Italy/leave America altogether and reside in Africa. Help those with AIDS. Move to Alaska and fish. Stay up all night and dance and sing and flirt at the bar. Stand on the sidewalk outside Frontier and yell poetry with a donation mason jar for change. Deranged ego feedings on lunch breaks at T-Mobile. Dude, check my latest mix tape. "Summer Nights" followed by "Satellite of Love." You have the energy of an Aries. Talking shit, walking like I was recently laid. I wasn't recently laid. I haven't stayed up all night in the company of anyone new in many a moon. No fireside chats, no pop philosophies and post modernism discussions at Denny's with drunk friends after the bars have closed. He says there's no way we're having kids. I feel nothing. No regret or sorrow. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and go to church and think things over and decide I'm stupid and need to feast on Christ. |