Dear Bill Ray,
Please love me. Just love me. This is all.
Yours,
Lucy B. Saner
The Reconstruction, in Sea Level Analysis Tuesday, Jan 15 2008
2. Reed: 2006-2007 10:21 am
omegabus! happy new year.
two thousand and eight has arrived, through a shoe rack and into a cantonese animal-print basement lair/lakeside estate. marilyn monroe, propped up on a brash little easel in the master bedroom, seemed to approve — i posed seductively with a boar’s head and traveled around the bar circuit a million times, bouncing between hardscrabble old sports and imports, sewickline, beloved, and otherwise. people were very badly behaved on the glassed-in porch, but everyone was gorgeous. some of them did it in a bed. ben and i danced briefly at the adult party (oh, most superb of clauses). they had preposterously oversized wineglasses and simply could not get their guests to go home. elbows coda. when carl woke me up at eleven to announce that it was three in the afternoon, it was snowing wondrously and there were five thousand bottles of beer in the hall; i ditched my bearskin and ran outside (and to mrs. fisher, due credit for the largest and most demanded pot of coffee in human history).
it was a good thing i’d brought my adventure boots.
snow all over the place. no complaints here: and the catastrophe team baking sessions yielded twenty six inventively fill pies and one blue cobbleresque pastry. gluten-free crust in a bag, to boot. peter bean was our fearless leader in sport utility, playing by the cut-throat, narrow-eyed rules of size, and we owe him one deliverance from danger. some issues with traction (/lack thereof) prompted underpants snow-shoveling and the services of one older brother david, equal parts squirrel-killer and chassis-rocker — all cars escaped eventually, troops from hermitage and my old scarf came back around to play. i do love you, ohio, though, you know.
Fish Pool; The Noises I Made Last Night Sunday, Jul 1 2007
2. Reed: 2006-2007 11:29 pm
today there were wonders.
one: open windows, musical lodgings, evasive see ewe noodles, a full moon in the barnyard, a return to the age of five.
two: mirrorbox visual bombardment, the color green, confident feet, all that is subterranean and cinematic.
three: contagious bulldog yawns, distractions on cement, obtuse angles, the dinnertime nexus.
[paper scissors paper rock.]
iceland-bound in the morning. this part of summer will bowl me over yet.
