February 2012
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February in Wisconsin makes up for late winter, as the years pass on. It brings small indecisive snowflakes that can’t make up their mind, hitting my cheeks and shoulders and thick auburn hair. The skin on my fingers and arms swells up and makes everything drier; I look 10 years older than I am. I am as indecisive as the snowflakes. I wish for it to stop and when it does, I wish for it to come...
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Your handwriting. The way you walk. Which china pattern you choose. It’s all giving you away. Everything you do shows your hand. Everything is a self portrait. Everything is a diary.
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"Excuses"
You tried to taste me and I taped my tongue to the southern tip of your body. Our bones are too heavy to come up, squished into a single cell of wood. I made an excuse. You found another way to tell the truth. I put no one else above us. We’ll still be best friends when all turns to dust. We are so smooth now. Our edges are beaten, drift wood widdled down. Old bodies slip when they make...
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Tonight I am thinking of Bon Iver’s cover of...
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