Cover of JM 1.1

Phone cord twist, the small way my fingers dance when you listen to what I don't really want to say. I'm all maybe never, when it's always definitely, right now, right here, and my index points away from my heart, choking in spirals.

Thinking too little, talking way too much, I learn how to walk to your house without looking down, nor up. I just stare straight ahead, and the clouds collect my dreams of anything but where I'm at now, me in your bathtub, soaking as you comb out newly dyed hair. My hair, colored like the neon get out of jail free sign I hang around my heart, just waiting for someone to turn over, Open.

There's this little way I fuss with yard sticks, the kind they want you to steal from lumber yards - advertising, measuring tree past and construction future. I'm all dueling scales, one side ancient and cosmopolitan, the other ordered and calculating, like the slide rule I adore, yet never use.

I love to save water, I love to throw fish back before they're even caught, I love to snap carrot tops back and forth under garden hoses, calling for hummingbird divebombs that always miss, just barely.

"Don't you want to leave me alone, cast aside and disgarded, once loved and not quite forgotten, like cotton candy cones, a sticky lick that in the end is designed solely as the transport, never the bliss."

Hard drive spin down, a slow yet even whine-hum, indicating tech presentational.

Body mail, my left cheek stamped I love you, my right palm addressed to kill.

It's never too late to get all run down, all inside out, all back-forth and stress-collecting, and if you'll just look over here to our right, you'll notice a brand new addition to our collection - love lost, never to be found again, unknown yet understood, convoluted bed sheet sweat that the washing machine will never take away.

The other day I closed my fingers around your smile, and flew off with it to my secret sliding pace - all downhill, all the time - and it glowed in my palm, wanting desperately to be let free. But I'll never let it go, just as I'll never quite hit the bottom, and as the world rushes past, faster and ever-blurry, I hold it to my heart with both hands, much like a prayer, but without pretentions of being heard.

Well, the reason I was calling was to say that I missed you, to tell you all about how important you are to me, without quite coming right out and saying so. I wanted to promise my love forever more while still stuttering the I don't know song, the I'm hurting and you don't even know it rap, the one I learned in pre-school, from soap opera closeups and frozen cookie dough commercials.

I'm not sure if I heard you correctly; when you said you didn't want me near, did you mean you want me far, should I focus on the negation or the distance, on the way my arms feel so still and warm wrapped around your back, or the way my voice trembles when I leave love voice mail turned awkward, all if you want to, if you think I'm worth the trouble.

I wrote this new song for you, it starts with three notes three different ways, and ends up with me all tidal wave, all tsunami tall, proud, and full of the first time I saw you wake up from afternoon sleep. The chorus is all about how I'm not supposed to leave after all, how I want to seep up between your toes, or just splash indiscriminately all over you, or maybe, if I really had the nerve, how I want you to drink me, in big thirsty gulps, swallow me whole so we could taste each other all the way down.

No, this is not appropriate driving, this is not my bicycle crash, and as far as I'm concerned, all streets towards are no right turn, one way away.

The first time I traveled, I cut all of my fingernails except the longest, and slowly scratched out a map with sidewalk chalk and spit, this x is me here, this y you there, and all the dotted lines inbetween the people I'd have to walk around to get there, all the destinations that I never know were not quite the end yet.

If the light comes on again, I expect you to shine brighter than last time, I won't take yes for an answer, and if you stare deep into my eyes I'll scream, promise heart crossing and inevitable death acceleration.

This is the ruler I was talking about, sheesh, can't you take a hint?

Trains are annoying because when you walk towards where you've already been, sooner or later you'll run into your shadow self, all aluring and world weary, all eyes-forward and missing mantras.

My first memory is of the last time I lived to tell about it.

All I need is a pocket calculator, with names for numbers and all additions a big fat "E".

Stick em up, roll over and play dead, me and my shadow all sweaty and screaming

You know that little bit of clear tape I stuck to your lips, that was my walk-away kiss, that's the way I want to cover you invisibly, coming anonymously between all incoming affection, even my own.

Freeway freeze tag, I'm it, hitching a ride in the car-pool lane, and everyone stops except for you.

I'm an alternative game show announcer, a brand new car never sounds convincing enough coming from my mouth.

My friends love me so much they leave me the hell alone, and I cry them far away near, I hold their hands closed, pleased to make your acquaintance, I'm happy to hold on for dear life, I'll catch you as long as you never try to stop my fall.

If I never stop writing it'll never be soon enough, soon enough to get away from everything I never wanted to be close to in the first place, soon enough to stop crying forever, to dry up and blow away, to memorize movie trailers and write love letters to mailpersons - they never respond, but as least they come back regardless.

I pick up cars like candy canes, a lick crunch discard flick of the wrist, a dusty video game cartridge, I just came over to see if you weren't here note, hole in sock toe flirtation, roller coaster line stare back, movie popcorn t-shirt stains, your fingerprints dissolving on my tongue.

Curly hair stare, is that live or is it Memorex, can I touch it, can I have you long enough to make you really sorry to see me go?

Hand raised and waiving, I knew that answer before anyone else even understood the question, it's all in the way you walk in your sleep, the way I wish upon belly button hair that someday, when the time is right, I'll slip into your arms and explode like a kicked dandelion.

A hole in one owl, an exceptional misconception, a comic book coupon cut out all crooked, permanent marking pen tatoos of your nickname behind my ears.

Look, I found a dinosaur wish bone, she was picking her teeth with it, and I wanted desperately to reach in beyond her smirk and pull my dreams towards, far far away.

Art school suspension, "a carefully planned and executed deconstruction of my realtionship to street signs, realized much to the administration's chagrin by turning the darkroom into a DMV test-drive, how many feel am I supposed to signal before an U-turn?"

If it doesn't make sense, smell it again.



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junk magnet
po box 11501
berkeley, ca
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