May 21, Glen Echo Park on a Tuesday, 10:15am. First damselfly of the year. An ebony jewel wing.

May 13th, Indianola, 12am: the first roses of the year. Five days later they're everywhere. 

the next

time you hold those lips out for kissing, 

I am going to crush you.

Your blue eyes. How do you do it?

Walking down Summit, 4am on a Saturday: the smell of lilacs. 

Walking up Indianola, 2pm on a Wednesday:the smell of honeysuckle. 

On a Friday, 4am.

Even in a thuderstorm,

moths flock to the streetlights
robins wake for their morning call

Lists.

Every song someone has put on a mixed tape/playlist/CD what-have-you, that i can remember.

Magic Carpet Ride
This is A Call
I'll Stick Around
Something I Can Never Have
That's What I Get
There's No Need to Argue
Wrapped Around Your Finger (gag)
Sober
May the Road Rise With You
As the Sun Hits
Something in the Way
Nothing Else Matters
No Quarter
Live Forever
Down by the River
I Yoo Hoo
When the Tigers Broke Free
As the Story Goes
Teenage Dirtbag
Plateau
Float On
Ray of Light
Last Cup of Sorrow
Violence
Dreams Burn Down
Closer
Two Little Girls
Hurt
This is the Last Day of Our Acquaintance
Taking a Ride (that boyfriend was offended when I asked whether he was gay; I thought it was a perfectly reasonable question.)

Why yes.

A daydream collage.

i have this packet of razors from a million years ago, a souvenier, really. This packet of razor blades is a tiny box, and it's called glidex. it "made in west germany" stamped on the back. a crackly cellophane wrapper with a red plastic guide line you pluck it from the corner and unwind unwind. it's crackly, it's old and brilttle and it comes off in loud and brittle breaks into your hands and then you peel all of them back and the cellophane discard you set the tiny box, it's red and ivory and black and it sits on the edge of your computers. a siren's song, ridiculousely cliched

but let's be quite, let's pick it up, this packet. it's almost too small for our fingers and we consider how small-schmeckled the men must have been back then, we laugh. the box opens, with a thumbnail on each side. We marvel at the packaging considerations so long ago. Inside, 5 packets, envelope wrapped here, but in the same ivory and read and black print as the package. peas on a pod. 

you slide one packet out, its ivory wrapper. turn it over and again, a thumbnail on each side opens, then a forefinger to the left and the right, to revel finally, pressed upon stainless, the partially bifricated piece of metal wrapped so lovingly in this waxed paper

what else can i really say the rest is so private the way my pulse fills that space between the top of my clavicals, right where it's soft, where it's always begging to be stifled

the thin blades, they're always hungry. so painless and so hungry.

i spend so much time alone because i'm pretty much the only person who things I am super awesome.

I wish so much of my well being wasn't tied to being employed. 

Collage 64

Collage 63ish?

I

Want things. Something. Something more than doubt. Something more than resistance. Something.