Expatriette in...

i think about us and our drifting poetries often- i am because we are. it's not necessarily the words written on paper, but it is how we live- the way we all swim indoors & the water that splashes up against our windows. That's why we will never feel as lovely in the outside world- you see the way everyone walks and runs like zombies-it's almost apocalyptic. sometimes this city is just dry air & a concrete street. but inside 1234 we are all swimmers and floaters. water slips through our fingers and holds us up like ships. graceful strength is the most beautiful kind and nothing embodies it quite like the buoyant bubbles that come up and burst from our blurred voices. there is something to be said about soft hands in winter, peppermint, a gray coat in everytime and anyplace & patience when people have no idea what it means to live for their shadow. you can at least laugh at it. stand atop a steeple and percuss a tune on my hips with twigs. i think someday & maybe soon, my heart will beat with that rhythm. i could be one of those people in a constant state of spiritual remembrance- some sufi/salinger aromatic thrill. we know no one could pick out phonies quite like HC and that's why i was terrified to meet him. thank god, he's just a character in a book i read once.