lucky me

today the breath has been shotgunned from my lips like freckled boy and girl (fifteen, sixteen) catapult from the house on their way to anywhere but where their parents are like so many of us away from work or away from tiresome lovers or away from fear-foamed lattes with little love for anywhere.

today the breath has been shotgunned from my lips like st. valentine's day massacre or people without fervor for what they do, without any love at all for anything: a causeway of the dying, a mind-numbing balance of the wasted.

today the breath has been shotgunned from my lips just by the way i woke up, how nice the tiny details can be. and i am arranging the day with that in mind, arranging the afternoon and evening and night to match the grace of the morning crosses my face with a smile and i am grateful for all my stupid days all my foolish decisions all my dumb remarks.

grateful. hopeful. listening to the sound of passing cars. writing.

2004-07-06 | 4:02 p.m.
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