I hope they're still awesome...

ODE TO A RACK



I met Gillian Anderson’s magnificent breasts
in roughly 1999. She was attached to them,
of course. Otherwise, that would just be weird.
But… her breasts.
They were a work of art.

Holy among His creation.
And she was wearing one of those absurd mesh tops
that everyone wore back then
(except for me—I’m ugly; no one wants to see that)
which only allowed me, a head and a half taller
than her, unprecedented access. As it were.
It was revelatory--like seeing the face of God.

One of my friends stole her water bottle
because it’d touched her lips.

It was a busy day...

(What follows is an experiment in writing a story entirely via nouns. Let me know how it went!)

SUMMER


Morning, pillow, bed
Sunlight, crystals, rainbows, sunbeams
Bathroom, toothbrush, toothpaste,
Breakfast, cereal, bowl, spoon, TV
Socks, shoes, kiss, door
Outside, grass, feet, grass, toes
Dandelions, sun tea, sandcastles, shovels, mud pies,
Rocks, sprinkler, sidewalk, chalk, drawings
Clouds, darkness, breeze, dust, drops, water
Leaves, chill, inside, kitchen, milk, crayons, paper,
Stick figure, glue stick, glitter, art
Refrigerator, magnet
Juice, peanut butter, jelly, sandwich
Television, cartoons, Playdough, carpet, smear
Corner, Time Out, timer, apology, hugs, kisses,
Lap, book, story
Nap, afternoon,
Sofa, cushion, hippopotamus,
Calm, sunshine, bright, birds, wet
Bugs, sunflowers, underbrush, muck
Clay, creek, beaver, adventure, scrape
Dinner, indoors, bath, bed.

I am...

FANCY

I am

a unicorn.

Or so

I tell

myself

when

I am

alone

in my house

with

noone

to tell me

I’m not

a unicorn.

All alone

I wear

an old

roll from the

paper towels

upon

my head

affixed

with ribbon

sparkly

shiny ribbon

and hope.

Sparkly

shiny

hope.

That

one day

my dream

will come

to me

and be

pure

and true.

I will

walk

the world

tall

with

a shining

glistening

golden horn

I would

stroke it

thoughtfully

in meetings

when asked

for my

opinion.

I would

be so very

smart

and dapper

to be a

unicorn.

There might have been crickets somewhere...

CATHEDRAL LAWN

Leaves rustling,
air conditioning systems
on bright, empty buses.
two-door hatchbacks with
broken mufflers, a hazy
humidity-ring around the moon.
Sitting on cement benches
in the shadows of a Gothic tower
lit artistically
for passers by.
Bare feet in the grass
and talking about
the sculpture in front of the museum
and Batman.
That’s how summer goes;
the last order at Taco Bell
crumbling rice and clotting refried beans
in burritos that remind us more of
mummified birds from the Egypt Hall
than Mexican food.
You complain
about that artist we both hate.
I always agree.
Love is
a burrito.

It wanted so much and yet little...

REACHING

Moist clay, pure like the kind from art class
So grey it’s maybe green, lays at the bend
in the creek like a bald fingertip
It wants to be made into something
ugly or beautiful--it does not matter
but it can wait no longer; it is bursting
bubbles of shifting air in anticipation
of BECOMING. It was aspirational clay;
its hero the swath of wet, marginally
cohesive strip of dirt that was used
to form Adam. The clay wanted to be great.
Greater than the David. Greater
than Bon Jovi. It wanted to inspire.
And make people cry.