Wednesday, June 2, 2010

the weatherman's a liar

the evening i spent,
watching tv and watering plants,
writing stories,
washing windows.

it seemed silly to spend a gray day at the beach.
we did it anyway.

blown up balls.
sand between my teeth:
gritty, and wet.

the forecast called for rain.
it never rained.
just the heavy promise,
clouds, thick, threatening,
never following through.

home, or
a bed under a roof.
does it matter where,
even if it feels a little

the absence of rain on the roof:


remember when,
in the lamplight,
our skin touched.
in my room,
nothing illuminated
but your back...

and i keep thinking
if you were here
i'd pull you into me.
and sometimes i just hate
my computer lying next to me.

it is very hard to find a job
if you never leave your house.
my hair is really soft,
does anyone care about that.
when is someone going to pay me

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