City. And as i finished school, was moving south for good this time. And as i lived then in a state of great anticipation. The potential of a record never acrossed my mind. But now, on account of those parking tickets i cant go back there with a car. Though everyone who loves me know i love that tiny window each october in the south nub of the state you cant reach without driving. I missed it once and waited a whole year regretting the lost chance to track the lyndon leaves tiny migration. The next fall, refusing to endure that state of desolation again i asked everyone who loved me to please meet me just south of the border. We ordered green mussels and popcorn shrimp. The shrimp beat the mussels to the table. I drank for pleasure but since i left that state i hadnt found anything delicious so iate all the mussels. Crouched, later in that state betrayal that come from learning some green things are not good. Considering the law averages that a body in motion stays in motion unless fac
About that idea of leaving places. And leaving places behind the title of this poem is stolen directly from this conversation in which he said there is a particular state that he would never go back to. Thats a state i will never go back to. For doug. Once i got over the problem of not knowing how i couldnt go back to not curbing my tires. It took a while to get past forgetting to register street cleaning hours and love, love was my handicap. Though i had no permits to hang from my rear view so i collected 7 or 10 slips i had every intension to pay off except i skipped town for the summer. And returned to find the guy staying in my apartment toss them. Ill admit i was relieved not to face these expensive reminders of the girl i have been how stupid i was about life in the city. And as i finished school, was moving south for good this time. And as i lived then in a state of great anticipation. The potential of a record never acrossed my mind. But now, on account of those parking tickets
The words the probably roost which is bitter. Biting, cutting, sharp. Bitan. Once, she was a fearest dark girl whos tongue skipped top of meeting. Teeth, teeth top of mouth like double dutch with the word that ment her thoughts cutting circles through the day. No chance shed be the one to trip and break rhythm. Then she could sit all day on her porch memorizing the trees. She could be still. The birds, winged through leaves like they didnt know anyone could hurt them. Once she believed steam curled off asphalt when summer rains stopped with a prophecy. She believed this looked the way she would feel after touching a man. Her body clean. And black. And right. Something beautiful and painless rising up. I was talking with a friend about that idea of leaving places. And leaving places behind the title of this poem is stolen directly from this conversation in which he said there is a particular state that he would never go back to. Thats a state i will never go back to. For doug. Once i go
Entry into that space. The title of the poem and it is the words the probably roost which is bitter. Biting, cutting, sharp. Bitan. Once, she was a fearest dark girl whos tongue skipped top of meeting. Teeth, teeth top of mouth like double dutch with the word that ment her thoughts cutting circles through the day. No chance shed be the one to trip and break rhythm. Then she could sit all day on her porch memorizing the trees. She could be still. The birds, winged through leaves like they didnt know anyone could hurt them. Once she believed steam curled off asphalt when summer rains stopped with a prophecy. She believed this looked the way she would feel after touching a man. Her body clean. And black. And right. Something beautiful and painless rising up. I was talking with a friend about that idea of leaving places. And leaving places behind the title of this poem is stolen directly from this conversation in which he said there is a particular state that he would never go back to. Tha
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