Subtitles with Self

Today I am as undone as a balloon animal on Chrystie St., a slack twist of sausages



The cafes are shutting down in Paris. Multimillionaires are spending less on their mistresses



Simple conversations with perfect strangers are not the same, but not necessarily better than, strange conversations with perfect people



I’m like a city girl writing country songs with a chorus of half-poisoned roaches mocked by crickets



I’ve got one for you:



I believe everything you say



I gave up collecting cigar boxes
Now I smoke cigars



President Obama, I’d like one of those green jobs
I like the feeling of wind and I’d like to see
wind do more good than capsize ships



I’d like to be part of the future
so I can make sport of the past



A security worker for a solar wind mill company starts a black market for wind, which he sneaks away in a spaghetti sauce jar. This is the stuff, he likes to whisper. He gives them different names for intensity: Turbo, Flutter, Trust. I’m not too proud to say I didn’t visit him once in a while but I never got caught up. When the cops came busting down his door, the story is he tried to dump the wind down the toilet and was drowned by the tiniest tsunami in the world.



Today I’m as undone as the wind to your sea