the vocal range of angels

i was laying in bed this morning thinking of sleep and knowing (knowing) it was too late.

i slid my hands down my naked body and remembered every day i'd ever known: skinning my knee falling off the fence in third grade. 12 years old and getting caught spying on the girls from my class in the swimming pool (the one i sat next to thought i liked her after that) i liked her friend, finding a bouncy ball buried in my sunroom age 5 and knowing it was a s good as gold, my cousin's neighbor who was 30 and showed uis her pubic hair (i was 11). smoking pot for the first time before i had any real hair under my arms, getting caught tripping at school age 13. my first blowjob. my first kiss. my first jog down memory lane. the sound my first typewriter made when the keys clicked, the little plastic record player with the thick sesame street blue and pink records, bubble gum cigarettes with smoke that came out, holloween candy my parents wouldn't let me eat in case bad people had poisoned it, getting caught climbing around on the pews in prestonwood baptist church age 8 by security, jerking off in my neighbor's pool while waiting for the daughter to put on her swimsuit and secretly hoping she'd catch me, watching hawaiins climb coconut trees barefooted and moving like spider man, the original batman movie (bam! pow!), the first pair of breasts i ever saw (with little pink nipples hard and pointed barely up), and dancing with a girl for the first time. these things give me chills even now. and that's how it ought to be for a man made of ink.

2002-09-12 | 12:32 p.m.
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