Sunday, January 23, 2005
(heartbeats)
jewish moms& loud thoughts.
(were always there, really).
I began to walk south and found no one had ever taken this street. a chalky gray like the eyes of grandfathers too old to remember their first dream. red boxes, like art galleries, lined the street--but, I knew to look up. cut the air like knives of soft words and watched me watch it: a question mark made of question marks. but this wasn't your normal postmoderrrrn French (or Freedom if your in the Midwest) philosopher churning out shapes in the sky to baffle me: this was real. like going over to a friend's house when you were a kid and never telling your mom. they worry, you know. or going to a baseball game with your dad and listening to him yell at the Japanese pitcher on the mound (Hideo Nomo, for the scholars). then, it disappeared.
