Saturday, May 19, 2007
autobiography
Si, tengo cara de "no fui" (Yes, I have the look that says "it wasn't me"). And when I begin to sweat, you can detect the scent of chanel no. 3. But it ain't me, babe, naw it ain't me. It's the smell of paint. If your kids aren't smeared with the same paint, it's time to call my realtor. Masks are must haves to keep it real.
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3 comments:
dandelions cover the field next to us, short lawn dotted with yellow faces. the groundhog clears wide spaces back to green. it is 20 may and there is always looking back and always ahead. stay here, my friends, with me and with the weeds.
sbee
rob, sorry for my laziness. just want to read and enjoy what you put out now. will try to do the assignment later:)
autobiography of the man in black
oh, i was there, all right. all the hate and anger spilling out, but perplexingly soft, this space, after all we've been through. no way around it, there never is a right place at the right time. I thought these masks would be the way, making it true, making it the way it was supposed to be. but in the end, for me, no matter how hard I try, I'll never be more than the little boy who's mother made him wear these damn ski masks when I went out to play in the snow.
[sorry, gato, I'm inept and couldn't figure out how to post]
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