Doods...

I won't be able to get to any of the new posts until next week. Maybe you guys could bring them to our next group? Whenever it might be.

The Good Old Days

Frank was sitting on a bench, the newspaper spread out across his lap. Warren walked over and asked, "Hey, did you miss your train?"

Frank lifted his eyes momentarily from the paper. "No." "Oh," said Warren, "so you weren't trying to make the 10:57?" Frank adjusted his glasses, pushing them up with his index finger. "No," he said. "Are you sure?" Warren asked, "I could swear you always take the 10:57."

Frank folded the paper neatly beside him. "No," he said again, "I didn't miss my train." He brushed his hand over the lapel of his dark tweed coat. "I live here and have always lived here. Did you know this land was once teeming with creatures so monstrous when they walked it felt as if the world were collapsing on itself?"

"You don't say," said Warren. "There were no birds," Frank continued, "only leathery beasts the size of airplanes that could swoop down and snatch you up with their claws if you weren't paying attention. It was a frightening place to be alive."

The two men sat in silence for what seemed like ages. Finally, Warren spoke. "Well, thank goodness it's all evolved since then." He patted Frank on the back and stood up. "Take it easy, buddy. I hope you make your train."

Warren walked away but Frank barely noticed. "Those were the days," he said, shaking his head. "Now they're gone forever."

After A Week Of Sand

Everything is sort of boring
if you look at it one way
and impossibly exciting
if you look at it another.
You can lie on a bed in Bratislava
and weep gently into the curled sheets
when you remember
you’re stuck here
even if you’re not stuck,
and you are not.
Atoms are swirling in your eyelids.
Make atoms into another word like swan children,
if you need to, and that’s what’s attacking your world
in a peaceful hypnotic way.

A flame is more like water than we know.
If you watch it you’ll see what I mean.

Most of the time we just need each other. So here,
I picked up your sunglasses off the subway floor.
One of the lenses popped out when it fell
and is lying next to my shoe.
I give it back to you, stranger!
And what do you do you mildly thank me
when I say "maybe you can fix it”
and we walk on and I’m not sure
is what just happened remarkable or not.





let's meet again. -mollye.

Details Of A Life Exotically Outraged At Itself

Ah! Life! Who are you kidding? Everytime I think I’ll remember you a thing happens right then that distracts me and makes me emote. I can’t get all your jokes and colors. Who do you think loves you more than me? It’s March. In another country people are picking bananas. The banana trees are ripe in St. Lucia. Ask anyone! Stacks of yellow scaled cylinders are slender and curved for picking. The workers (you, me, whoever) tie blue bags around the fruit waists (stems) to keep out winter bugs. I have a feeling from what the island tour guide said

bananas should mean everything to us.

In the end will you forgive me like Thornton Wilder forgives for not knowing you right? Wilder forgave people in his plays. It’s one of the reasons he wrote plays (for forgiveness). It’s also why his staircases enchant theatre-goers. So many hands slide down them and eventually slide back up. He rarely killed someone he didn't love. He said poets and saints notice you, life, but not always. He didn’t say it. One of his characters said it for him.

newest. let me know. i'm back. in ny, tomorrow. xo, moll.