I've done a bad thing now.
Mother, I want to leave home now forever, catch a glimpse of contested borders and lay down beneath the hail of birds with the Tuscan sun in my eyes. I'll pluck a feather from each and mail you a million quills with dripping ink.
I want to float with my stomach towards the clouds in the Atlantic and be washed through the Triangle on a bed of torn fish and garbage.
I want to watch you from afar now. You look east towards the tallest ruin. I'll stamp my feet until the earth shakes and you can hear me wailing.
I know you're alone there. Chances are I'll be on home now.
But not before I've seen this world.
And oh, you nameless woman.
Each trial of my mine matters not and yet I still fear your touch and dark hair
pale skin and slender unforgiving.
Eyes of pride and eyes of wonder.
I worry now, you'll disappear again and draw my ire.
For you I'll send my silence from the breaks in the book burning line.
Maybe we can meet in Queensland and I can take you out on the river.
With your nonexistent parasol and ambivalence.
I've done a bad thing. Exeunt bravado.
I only wanted to bike the countryside in ambiguity and read my books.
But I cannot do it alone.
I want to struggle now with everyone. I want to struggle now with you.
I wanted to write published letters.
But there is nothing left to write.
Los Angeles 2011
this is very good, so good. there is so much in here
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