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Not even a first draft, just words thrown down like a handful of dice, the ones that didn't roll off the table...

I want to go someplace else
be somewhere else
be someone else
it doesn't matter where
it doesn't matter whom
not here
not me.

The dishes didn't all fit in the dishwasher.
I have failed.

Someone said there's a poem he reads every year
and that makes me want to read it
but it's not online
not all of it
the little I saw is good
why can't I write like that?

There's too much spice on the sweet potatoes.
I must remember to get the car inspected.
There's a message on the answering machine
from Tuesday.

It's all hallow's eve and the weather is warm
and the wind is blowing all the leaves off the trees
and I want to be out there and I want to be blown


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Oct. 31st, 2009 11:49 pm (UTC)
Oh, you could totally have been blown elsewhere by the wind here, too.

(and you must read ebourland's journal... I saw the entry too, about the poem)

You could try flinging the extra dishes out the door or out the window. At least for the first dish, it's very satisfying...

Nov. 1st, 2009 01:13 pm (UTC)
You're correct about whose entry triggered this. :-) Tossing dishes... hmmm... tempting!
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )