I've only just got here. The wondering where the others are going. The seeing of many empty taxis among the cars. The continuing to look until it comes closer. The noticing how crowded it has become at the bus-stop.
The fright at realising that the key — The discovering of the key in the other pocket. When I'm finally gone, everything will be alright. Tumors, too, were friends, waiting at the bus stop with backpacks in the morning. The forbidding oneself to look to see if bus is coming. The seeing that it is not a bus, but a large truck. The thinking: tomorrow I'll take the first empty taxi straight away.
The forbidding oneself to look to see if bus is coming until at least a hundred cars have gone past. You made me so strong, but for now this is so long, I'm here at the bus stop, And now its arrived, I just want you to know that I survived, I made it through your beehive of love I was stung, But i seemed to not be allergic. The realising how much it would cost to take a taxi every day. I wanted to make him mine. The noise of the birds singing in the tree. The thinking of the many murders of taxi drivers.
And I never understood how such a bright boy could be such a coward Because thats what they all are, Cowards who hide behind colors, Blue and red type brothers who leave behind their mothers and sisters, how could he His familiar face standing beside me as if we never shared the same last name. At last i'm under my roof I felt like the biggest goof. The thinking: I might as well have taken the first taxi. They tell me about their upcoming schedule or what happened the day before. I thought to myself, I had to get to him before someone else. I've only just got here. But now its time to depart, While I'm here waiting at the bus stop.
The guy was a winner, yes in deed. Jaycee Dugard was 11 years old when she was kidnapped while walking to her bus stop. There I was, I found myself falling in love with a total stranger, while sitting at the bus stop, right by the park. The guessing what these two do together. The thinking that it makes no sense to take a taxi now. He was my bus stop lover. Dance on the table, Tommy, dance the night away; when the night's at its blackest and the dawn's far away - you'll be down in the furrow with the wild, brown hare.
The thinking: where are they all, they must come back this way eventually. This week's theme Argent is to choose a relation and write about them in a poem. The remembering remembering the same thought yesterday. The seeing of a taxi. She called death the world of 10 , 000 things: the dragon courting its damsel, catheter tubing in the wastebin, video of a toddler biting his brother, pas de deux, full- sugar ice cream, Crimson Queen, Trumpeter, Red Knockout, Tuscany Superb.
I knew her as Rose Shapiro. Ring-around-the-rosy, red rover, red rover, send her right over. There he was, a sight for sore eyes. The wondering if other people think of murder so often. I been cured while I was here at the bus stop. The imagining how it would be to have a flat tire on a deserted autostrada in howling wind and pouring rain. Finally on the bus at last My heart is beaing incredibly fast.
. The wondering if other people also think like this. Its been ten hours of walking, texting and talking. Then you'll set off with your rod and hope no-one's about, and you'll end up with a catch of a fat, brown trout. The remembering remembering the same thought yesterday. The thinking: tomorrow I'll take the first empty taxi straight away. One of the best nights of my life.
The fright at realising that the key - The discovering of the key in the other pocket. My sole to my shoes are ripped, My toes and foot got cuts that have dried, where blood once dripped. And he made his way down the block. The remembering of the same thought from yesterday. The thinking: if I take a taxi it's expensive and I've wasted all that time now anyway.