this may or may not be about someone you've never met

black book

sweet sink

 AKA loverz r ez 2 come by

Wow oh! Wow!  I want to cook you shrimp and dinner in our backyard down in Nola, a warm breeze and a howl in the air that’ll never go away. Lesson-less rainbows! Wow oh! Wow! Smush tush, loose your heart, wash your mind. Plush and taut and rockin’. Wow oh! Wow! 

I'm watching bubblegum smack inside this wee girl's cheeks and imagining plucking buttons beneath you, wild as a boar, prancing with no map or agenda, sailing away in a hot air balloon. Bark and burn and boil. Dreams of calls for Paisley; ah, age is all only a number.

Now what? Dropped in a big city, all I could word was blubber; until I learned to speak like them and then it sounded like a scrap yard gargling a monsoon. 

Ducks hop and frogs ribbit. Milk silk skin, and lips like fingerprints embossing nipples.  Kids play house and doctor and the mailman steals your momma.  Alligators smooch fishes, turtles splash bottled nets. Ah, the surfs a lazy lay. Kiss bedtime goodnight, pull open your eyes at the first glisten glimmer shine of starlight.  It's sure hard to sleep when your body feels like an earthquake. 

Olive is searching through the Ruski's database to find a pirated version of this film we just went to a Q&A for, under the false impression that they would be screening it. Anyway, now we're sitting in the bar window in the Starbucks in Astor Place and I've probably just watched 223- no, 227 people go by - (I don't double count the lost, pacing repeats.)

People are only as interesting as the truth in things they've done and do and say and think. This woman is aching in the corner, exhausting a tired Navy Army jacket and a pinching eye. She has rubbed up against my arm twice already and just about jumped right out of her bones when this screaming baby plopped over.  She's stomping in the corner and I wanna ask her what's wrong because I've been there, stuck in that stupid revolving door, crying on the bathroom floor; but, at least I had mama trying to cradle me in her arms. Oh, who will cradle you, dear bat? Who? I suppose that's why you rock and hold yourself, with no one but you to cradle you from your scour. 

Micaela Silberstein