Saturday, June 23, 2007

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Asheville’s black blaring pavements and sun tanned elbows have me curiously longing for Christmas morning and the waking to a frozen tarp and toes and the hope of instant mashed potatoes. or if not that, to trace the tracks of my old college campus the year of the ice storm. listening to sigur ros and the silent frozen destruction of all that water and weight. my mind always wanders where I am not. to dreams or my to do list. to those distant dots on the timeline somehow made perfect with the passing of time. i look at the maps in my room and move my fingers across the crooked country borders. Check for plane ticket deals and mend my suitcase. there are so many things that came before. My grandmother’s recipes. A room full of scrapbooks. still others that are ahead. weather forecasts. blank camera film. Before you wake up I watch the steady motions of your eyelids. I am not remembering or planning. You are my first moment.


painting by edouard vuillard. lugne poe

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