i'm listening to too much bjork and dot allison. and reading ancient egyptian poetry about human geography. and it's all getting mixed up in my mind. when i sleep. i hear allison moaning about pomegranates and the sound of your voice and being forgiven.

the other night, i turned into an alien. and threw all the pictures of you out the window and into the parking lot. and laughed like someone had just set fire to the president. cool like. and satisfied. i screamed like a woman who knows what it feels like to have meat between her teeth. and imagined all those reproductions of you meant something. to someone. more than confetti dreams and the consequence of circumstance and damn good fucking sex.

with a little courage. in time. you might forgive me.

Fuck that. No. Don't forgive me. Seriously. Buy the cd and a box of tissues and write me a letter 9 months too late about all the reasons you think I'm a rotten excuse for a human being.

I've got to go find some birds to sing to.

Hero.