tu m'as fait vibrer

i washed you out of my sheets today

i'm not letting you back in


no no no no way no how

resolutions and adjustments to your new model

resolved
that i will stop asking the boy to dinner
when i know
he wants only after-dinner
that i will stop obsessing over
life and love
in new orleans
by online means such as facebook
(when i should be out living real life with real
three
dimensional
people)

resolved that
the way i feel on the 6 metro
at 8 at night, on the way home
crossing over the black seine and
devouring the sparkling eiffel tower
with my soul and my eyes and my fingertips
the way i feel when the woman
at the boulangerie says "bonjour ma biche"
and already starts to cut me a demi-baguette
is the way i will ALWAYS feel

(and resolved that the canadian bitches

won't hurt my feelings anymore)

i miss anna

on the island
when we were really really broke
(too broke for rum)
we made potato curry
and still invited everyone over
to take a bite

paper doll II

the paper doll girl got a paper doll boy
(he had a beret accessory)
and she fashioned him into her lover

instead of dressing him up,
the clothes came off

until the day she
looked
at his one dimensional body
and realized that
no matter how many Gucci shirts she bent over his arms
or how many wine glasses she pasted to his hand
he would always \be made out of

wood pulp and red #5

the party

wendy grey was perpetual jet lag.
susan condor was red wine stained teeth.
martha winters was apathy and over-education.
miriam paul was solitude.
and every night they had a party all together all at the same time in the same place.

wendy would always say “I am so tired! why can’t I sleep?”
and susan would smile sloppily.
martha would nod and be rudely aloof while miriam usually locked herself in the bathroom.

what a strange group of girls they were.

home for the holidays

everyone is prayin' for rain with their eyes up toward that cloudless sky

but i'll just lay down in the cracked clay of lake lanier
and say

"man,
i know how you feel"

and one day you'll be in the NY Times too

The bridegroom’s previous marriage ended in divorce

smile for all the camera flashes, baby

just look at that diamond sparkle.

paper doll I

There once was a paper doll girl. Each time she met someone new, they would pick up the blue polka dot spring dress and place it onto her, bending the paper taps over her shoulders and hips, and stand her up somewhere. Or they would put onto her the tulle and flowers wedding dress. Or the little black cocktail outfit. Or the business suit that had been ripped a little at the waist and pasted back together.

Everyone loved the paper doll girl because she became whatever they wanted her to be.

plans for 2008

take up courses at the Sorbet (that’s in Parisfranz) in pencil sharpening, cursive handwriting, and the metric system.

work some times for Mr. Vansnuzzlegarf, collecting cans and reading warning labels.

after exams, begin work with Mr. Widdy Lohan, in his low-rise office building overlooking some seines, re-corking wine bottles.

in august, return to Lose-yer-antlers, with new hair color and passport of Lottie Majors.

dip

he used to rest his hand in the dip near above my hip

and push into me, laying behind

and beg me to stay the night

i would reply, with retrospective irony,

that my single-girl ways wouldn’t allow it

anywhere but here, anytime but now

i wish we were playing yam under the mosquito nets
listening to the short-wave radio oh oh

walking on the sky

california postscript

at first: hesitancy: “what are you doing tonight?” three times I said no.

then: frantic: nights on the town, restaurants with rectangular plates and bottles of fancy champagne. he kissed my neck and said pleaseplease: no. my intuition said. no.

we came to rest, subtle, settle, long nights horizontal and afternoon kisses. I gave in with delight: enthusiasm.

then: I put on my thrift store slip under my kimono, painted my toes red (like us: the town) waiting for him. he never came. he still hasn’t come.

he: drives a fast car. i’m back in paris in two months. he tossed me before the expiration date. still haven’t learned to trust my instincts.

weather

you
murky_storm_cloud
moving along
but never getting any sunnier

beaten#eaten#trambled#andhard
a bad egg

r
a
i
n
over other pastures
you're cramping my style.

moi, ce que j'adore...

he has blond curls that wrap around my fingers

i'm enamored with a man from california. and for once i find it difficult to write it out.

one word, plural

fall

eyeliner

bubble

off

sunshine

hips

me

hips

supposed

be

secret

please don't tell anyone that i really really wish he was thinking of me.

- - when;

when you make my knees shake I’ll bite through the orange, rind and all.

when you make my knees shake I’ll tilt my neck back. let go.

rind and all.

little things

to enjoy
the return of
picking out cute knickers
as i dress
in the morning

and all the anticipation
that it
implies.

oh!