life is a dizzy and delicate dance
i dance without a god
is it easier or harder to dance alone?
to make your own steps
or to hold another's hands?
to take yourself to death
or to be guided there?

he calls me kid
even though i am older than him
(not much, i think a year and a
day, but when you are young you take these
things as points of pride) but
still i do not question him.
he is older than me.
both of his parents are dead and he
makes pizza. i write
about human emotion
and yet have experienced
no true
sorrow.

i know it is something
i find out within 72 hours what
sort of something it is. whether it is
something, or, oh, you know, just
something. the difference between
something that will last forever --
-- a gigantic slash
from a car crash --
and something you pick up for dinner at the store.

just thought i'd stop in. The
new roommate is pretty and
likes music, especially techno, which is not my thing, but when she plays it,
sometimes, casually, when we are walking around, doing our separate things, putting
things here and there, filing our lives, she will
stop
for a second and
bop
her hip to the side suggesting
fun, aloof, from everything else, putting


a rift in the monotone.