Life Story II

Remote control smile (batteries not included).

already

headache and a
distinct lack of
protein return me
to a back to school
state of mind.

already procrastin-
ating a first day's
homework because due
dates are two weeks
from today.

and
already
i
miss
your
smile.

telephone 6 and 6.5

i can only handle one friend who was
just broken up with (over the phone)
at a time. voice mail: "joe and i had
another fight and i'm just calling to
talk." in person, the cell phone in
the grass, lying flat on our backs
in the park: "bryan said he didn't want
to be with me." i wait for my phone
to beep, telling me ian returned my
text message, which i told myself i
wasn't going to send, but did anyway.
i can't call her back; i can't make her
feel better in the grass (and the mos-
quitos are coming out); he doesn't text
me back.

let's only talk in person from now
on, because it's too hard not to see
your face and i already forgot how you
smile. i don't know you well enough
to be comfortable text messaging you
when i want to know how you're doing
and be able to see it come from your voice
without the static on the line and the
roommate in the other room with the tv
on, but i don't want to have the 'where
is this going?' conversation, because
i'm trying really hard to see if this
new thing could work, but you live too
far away for me to be okay with not
hearing from you until i see you on
the weekend and we aren't clear with
anything. let's just talk in person (and
have the 'where is this going?' con-
versation).

telephone 1

addicted to the telephone
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa tetherphone
i am always a phone call away
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa never away
just in case my car breaks
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa down

the sweat crackle of her voice
(it actually sounds different)
& i am ever seeking the
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa sound of sweetness
aaaaaaaaaa giddy cute talking to animals & babies voice

that is the closest thing to
a smile i can get--
the intonation the
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa reflection--
bounced off of clouds & filtered
through the cosmic microwave background

an invisible (time elapsed) embrace.

I want to be a space ship
I want to be a glass of water
I want to be a nightstand
I want to be a cherry tree
I want to be a deck of cards
I want to be a low tide
I want to be a reoccurring dream
I want to be a freshly painted wall
I want to be a spelling bee word
I want to be a fingernail moon
I want to be an unmade bed
I want to be a parenthese on a page of periods
I want to be a flat wooden water ice spoon
I want to be a pair of new cotton socks
I want to be a chocolate chip
I want to be a library card
I want to be a nightlight
I want to be a padoodle
I want to be an icicle hanging off a roof
I want to be a smile
I want to be a trampoline
I want to be a bare foot