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24. again
13. days
9. doing
July 2001
June 2001
May 2001
April 2001
March 2001
February
2001
January
2001
Archives
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august been
seeing a guy named stan who takes tickets at the bridge and laughs
when the wind blows hard enough to shut it down. so the other
bridge guys get together in the office to drink bitter coffee
and tell lies. no not that. as i was saying, august is a sweet
little thing with no idea that the world has men tough enough
to laugh in it. august takes herself very serious like. she had
a cat and a dog but let them go when the hazy days came lumbering
down here. push ups for august. and plenty of running around.
angelic messages under the shady tree send up tiny balloons like
dandelion fuzz fireworks. shot down. august on the streets. august
in the back room counting boxes from the new shipment thinking
about stan and his coffee-stain smile. august thinks about another
job maybe at school in a room full of children and dust that
makes everyone sneeze too much. august wants a city made of words
to come jump from her head. skyscrapers of concrete adjectives,
steaming streets of asphalt verbs. she gets tired enough by sunset
just remembering the day. august has two faces in the mirror.
one is hot and cold. the other is fast and slow. august been
swinging nightly on the porch and has done it before with stan
who never brings flowers and looks too much like oliver hardy.
august does
it because she can and because no one came over tonight to bother
with questions about the death and a missing window. august been
digging in the dirt for worms. no not for fishing but just to
see what worms so sincerely know down there. now she's watching
that nearly full moon step out of the cloud. now she's swinging
on birches calling hawks to come closer. closer. august been
singing jazz to the night. and the night been singing back. a
thick sweet song that smells like coffee. august been laying
back to consider the stars.
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