novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- irish hills and cattle raids, for the queen of dawn stand astride the far hill he is moving to italy, after all. i spent the last few days digging through everything i own: tearing through piles until my fingertips felt wooden floor boards. i halved my apartment debris. like coring an apple. the patch of sidewalk in front of my building holds boxes of clothes, shoes, boxy old pleather airline bags. a pastiche donation to the neighborhood and that truck coming by at 3 pm. my car's trunk is filled with things to sell or give away to friends. you know that feeling where you are looking for something, but you don't know what? i found fifteen pens, twelve dollars, a pack of stale gum, boxes of art supplies. boxes inside boxes inside boxes. but i didn't find you. the people who end up making the biggest impact on my life barely seem to make an indent in all my clutter. what is deemed a keepsake doesn't sound or smell like a distinct memory, so why should i keep it? 10:26 am - 03.08.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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