the moderns

right now the perfect girl is evan dando singing I just want a bit part in your life, a walk on would be fine.

this morning backed into me in the bathroom as I rubbed lotion on her back
a purposeful thing of hair hanging down over her face
cousin “it” from the adams family with a crooked smile
terrance singing do you love me…
caddy shack gopher dance

the bus is a giant vibrator, but I may not be feeling it the same as you
tell me—where is it
“no, you’re wrong, it’s being young that lets us know things”
future revisionaries
vampire sucking past
occurrence shift
a bus moving for a city starting with “san” or “santa”
a theory mention of the middle status
lasting miles, days, ways to reflect this is your buying
your seducation
up all night at the window of forgot to mention
“who”
“oh, I don’t know, she was someone’s roommate”
“that’s vague”
“exactly”
“are you jealous”
“no”
“I didn’t think you would be”
“if it makes you feel better a good 12 of the last 24 hours were yours”
“thanks”
“you were sliding down banisters
your eyes were dark, endless, that sort of thinking
the most I’d figure out by them was the shine
or movie brilliant”
“it’s time for my bath”
“what do you do in there”
“the water runs like mechanized things, the way your brain smoothes out your skin and hands eventually, a voice to fade the head of the word leaving the heat to rise blood-red on you skin”
“that doesn’t mean anything”
“yeah, but it sounded pretty”

gone neutral now
so maybe I need the smallest hint of possibility
or maybe I just know enough of you

as it is it got to sit there in the middle of the table anyway, like a bowl of mashed potatoes on a thursday in november, growing more beautiful as you spoke, replacing an early evening static with a late night former silence hour’s away from this morning’s front page violence.

I am a reverie
I glow and shape-shift
I am my bones and their habitat
I have become my own perfect girl