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17.6.05
god, youre brother is annoying.
so i think the whole, future thing, is okay.
i walked down a street with spent blossom trees, re-fantasizing a phone conversation for at least the second time.
do you see the oak tree to your left? -- and here there is a pause between 'your' and 'left'. during this pause i have pinched my forefinger and thumb on each hand and made a movement as i process which side of you the tree is on and which hand i write with.
i'm so shit with directions i tell you and you know because you laugh during the pause. here is another thing that happens during the pause.
during the pause you also might notice where i am leading you, seeing it precisely infront of you, seeing me hiding behind the bamboo and lying on the grass. you might not notice.
keep going, i say with tease in my voice like sweet butter and i hear you walk. your breaths come out every time you plant your black shoes which i know you'll be wearing on the pavement. your breaths have the tone of someone who is pretending to be annoyed or bemused but youre smiling.
in the pause some sparrows - god don't sparrows have the most thoughtless ugly song, its like CARCARARACARAR and it sounds exactly like the colour of their bellies - are flying into a hole in a roof on a house under the sun. the sun is afternoon sun, where is is deeply hot before everyone starts to barbeque.
the sun is the nearly five o clock sun.
you notice the end of the street sign is broken off and you notice where the pavement is buckled from the roots of ornamental cherry trees. it reminds you of the buckled pavement where you live which is littered with the hundred count of spent cherries from a tree over the wall, and how you avoided standing on them that morning because of the macarbe image of them splitting in slow motion with juice and obscene ripeness underneath your shoes.
okay, you say. all you say is okay and you laugh. i can see the laughs coming from you in square bubbles like your square eyes and your square jaw and your square mouth. sometimes you say fuck off and god.
it is nice because everyone knows we are pretending and everyone knows what it reminds you of and only i know it reminds me of a slice cut into a thick orange skin when we kissed.
whispered by killa b at 5:28 PM |
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