i approach things and think about them.
then i do things to them.
then i'm tired, it gets dark; and then i go away.

ann beattie eats an apple.
she puts a spoonful of almond butter in her mouth.
she chases the almond butter with lemon snapple.

i'm awake, i do laundry, and
the stupid yellow thing comes up.

okay, this poem is not about a relationship.
i have a journal filled with faded words in pencil.

i'm in a box.
my brain releases something into my flesh.
a dog comb floats.

i think my art is bad. i write a poem with the word teacup in it. i thought teacup was a good word.

my cheek just shrunk a little. i'm very depressed. i almost had crippling depression today. i thought crippling depression was funny when i thought about it as two words connected. i'm really sad, but i want to be different so i can make you happy or excited, less bored, more. . . just better or something. i feel stupid i tried to write a poem with teacup in it. i feel stupid for everything i ever did. i just want to see you and feel better.

obama talks in the background. i slump in the chair. i am slumped in the chair. i failed at everything. failing is good. i feel smarter when i fail because i have to justify my failing to myself inorder to keep living. i tilt my head and think 'something else now'. my head rolls backwards not a little. i think it rolled inside my head. it did a backwards summersault.

yesterday i watched a man cross the street and felt really good about everything. yesterday i felt good all day about everything. now i feel bad. i think i know why i feel bad. maybe it's the wrong reason. should i be concentrating something else than what i'm concentrating on? i have to stop writing. someone is putting bags in the garbage pales. the applause for obama sounds low, like they are booing beneath the congress.

are you watching/listening to obama? i want to hold you, please.

i'm holding a chicken pot pie
steam rises from a hole in the crust
i look out the back door window
my head is level with the backyard
a baby deer lays curled up in the middle

when we walked down the cobblestone street
holding hands with parents that weren't ours
the crowd broke and a small child stood alone crying

maybe there are parent's somewhere
who lost their sons in car accidents