I am not going gentle into that good night; I needed a friend, so I poured myself a glass of absinthe. a cloudy green glow. it is the most disgusting thing ever.
I almost got arrested today for smoking pot in a federal building in houston (hello? christian?) and when I returned to my car I thought that someone had stolen pushkin, my parrot, my precious precious pet. I was crying and I wanted to kill myself and I yelled 'pushkiiiiiiin!' at all the trees, yelled at god. I got back into the car and stared emptily at the steering wheel, desolate, exhausted. I laid my head on the back of the seat and, staring at the cotton clouds that whirled around, I said 'please god. please. I know we haven't spoken in about ten years, but please. keep pushkin safe. I'll do anything. they won't know how to feed him, how to put him to bed... what songs to sing. he misses me, he needs me. please.'
hearing my voice, pushkin crawled out from underneath the back seat of the car and chirped at me. at first, I thought it was just a hiccup in the car's engine, and I started crying harder. but then he chirped again and I turned around and he was standing there, head tilted, looking at me quizzically.
where is the word? alone, in the dusky dust of dawn, I can see the buttery sun-circle dampening down. sunset colors that melt and weld together. and then: a luminous light from a cold moon, the blush of the capitol. birds black with loneliness flapping and chewing at my heart. blah blah blah. my grandmother bought me sage because a palm-reader in new york city told me that I had an extremely negative aura that I needed to cleanse. it perches, parched, on the porch, I burn it and breathe it.
the evening is evening. evening. evening. blah blah blah, blah blah blah.
blah blah blah blah blah.
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