The View Through Crib Bars 03.01.01
12.27.03

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“Song must be completely eliminated if your poems are
to be considered of the moment and not just a
poetess writing.” “I think tissue bothers me as the skin.”
Brandon is wearing a ‘Queer as Folk’ t-shirt today and I
wonder about getting one for Scooter.
I woke up in a silver-chrome playpen
with pre-schoolers throwing popcorn at my face. Salt and
powdered butter hit my eye. Every night I miss
my pacifier. Tim says I can watercolor him. We
wake each other shaking from bad dreams. I dreampt
of a series of pools, each evil/scary in a different
way. Tim was there, but he was someone
else too, and Topher was there conversing with him.
I know my mother was married at 23. Brian edges
himself against my nerves—I wonder if Tim affects
Scooter the same way. I want to wear mirrors in my
fingernails. My toothpaste is never where I left it.
The cold-cuts disapear while I’m at school but sometimes
he buys us pizza and I can’t complain when he talks
all during my video neutralizing all the suspenseful
bits with obvious comments about hair color and my
dominatrix future. Popcorn squeaks thoughtfully
between my teeth. “I don’t need lines drawn—
all of these things can exist in the same
place and share the same properties.”  ¶ 2:05 PM