the floor above my library is gone...and they have replaced it with heavy machienery and dinosaurs and bowling alleys and a train station and...

my head is vibrating with the long, drawn-out deep-pitched moaning sounds from the poor dinosars...they must be poking them with sticks.

pleh.

yesterday i rewrote/recreated two old poems for my MFA application...i will share one:

HAIRS CUT

In that warmth before sleep
I can almost feel you, your nose
soft against mine � an Eskimo kiss,
a tickle�s itch on my nose and lips.

I open my eyes. Still you are there
trilling with breath. It is you,
a long piece of your hair left behind
escapes from my pillowcase with the feathers.

I stretch it out, roll it down my chin,
wrap it around my tongue to taste you.
In the strobe street light it throbs, reminds me
of the antique lamps with glowing beads of oil
that slide down fishing-line,
caging in a dull and gilded Venus.

Strange for it to look so alive,
fresh as it did curling down your back,
whispering to that secret place
in-between your shoulder blades.

I stretch your hair in fists, test it
for resilience and health, startled
as a train quakes past my new window,
by the crisp snap of your bronze hair.

*smile*

i wrote that poem back in boston, i believe...just after i left myfromidableopponent back home...after he told me that a physical relationship would no longer work -- after three years.

interesting that he chose to tell me after we drove four hours through ohio to his family reunion. i broke down later, trapped in a canoe with his mother in the middle of a lake.

...it was awkward to say the very least.