Sunday, August 21, 2005

I don't know where the comma goes

North country girl, he said to me. I don't know why. I like the words.

There are things I should be writing down, things I think, things I see. Things like: the dead snake, the rock snake. Things like: we all woke up in the late storm; my eyes have turned back overnight.

Everyone asks of each other: what? What do you want?

I want to be taken to a high field. I want this time to be bound in string, not wire, so I can more easily get free.