all i ask for is a warm body, to keep this winter from killing me
i) yesterday while i was sitting in the sweep of the south mall (thinking the sailing ships that pass/on our bodies in the grass) the clock tower came springing out of the frame of the afternoon, singing happy birthday, bells and bells ringing out like lighthouses to bring one o'clock into the harbor. my heart went into a nearby phonebooth and changed outfits and came back out dressed as a volcano of joy at this turn of events, but puzzlingly the other students just kept sleeping or speaking or walking. i tried to make a face to say terrific! at one boy laying near me in the grass, but i think he suspected sexual harrassment and returned his gaze à toute de suite to his book.
ii) he was looking for an old book (old like me, he says, and laughs), a book he never finished but has lost. the woman i didn't marry gave it to me, he says, and then stops. i should have married her. when i tell him the book is out of print, out of my reach, he says he'll find it somehow -- all these years i've been waiting to find out how it ends.
iii) while waiting in line at the movie store, i say too loudly something about trackstarboy, and mention that i believe my face to be the color of a tomato. alex politely reassures me that everyone's face is tomato-colored, but the man in front of us turns around to inform us his face is definietly an exception to that rule. your face is fine, he tells me. trackstarboy won't mind.
iv) all night my dreams are laquered with british accents; the people i find there speak like their histories changed overnight. taylor! what became of us? this time our ancestors overslept and missed the mayflower.
v) out of nowhere patton just asks, do you ever do this? joel barrish and i roll our window down, but we're not really sure what she is asking. i do this sometimes, she says. sometimes i try not to understand english so that i can hear what it sounds like - the language to a foreigner, someone who doesn't know the words. i say, no, never, and she says it doesn't really work. but sometimes i watch tv and put my hands up to muffle my ears.
vi) but there are other ways to smear these syllables, crisp as heartbeats, these small sounds.
ii) he was looking for an old book (old like me, he says, and laughs), a book he never finished but has lost. the woman i didn't marry gave it to me, he says, and then stops. i should have married her. when i tell him the book is out of print, out of my reach, he says he'll find it somehow -- all these years i've been waiting to find out how it ends.
iii) while waiting in line at the movie store, i say too loudly something about trackstarboy, and mention that i believe my face to be the color of a tomato. alex politely reassures me that everyone's face is tomato-colored, but the man in front of us turns around to inform us his face is definietly an exception to that rule. your face is fine, he tells me. trackstarboy won't mind.
iv) all night my dreams are laquered with british accents; the people i find there speak like their histories changed overnight. taylor! what became of us? this time our ancestors overslept and missed the mayflower.
v) out of nowhere patton just asks, do you ever do this? joel barrish and i roll our window down, but we're not really sure what she is asking. i do this sometimes, she says. sometimes i try not to understand english so that i can hear what it sounds like - the language to a foreigner, someone who doesn't know the words. i say, no, never, and she says it doesn't really work. but sometimes i watch tv and put my hands up to muffle my ears.
vi) but there are other ways to smear these syllables, crisp as heartbeats, these small sounds.