#dagexcerpts

[dagwolf]

dagExcerpts: walking not reading

She confessed having to look up to see the sky. All those buildings perpendicular to the street, pointing up and looked, then, to me, interpreting: means [you] can look up and see the sky. Pointing—Smiling—Blinking [She] needs to see the sky to look up. (2002)

[dagwolf]

dagExcerpts: Moving To, Moving From

Of Tulsa I remember most about the house June bugs clapping against our small front porch, our cat Stubs snapping them into his greedy mouth, and the Arkansas River lapping at our door during a grotesque flash flood.  I remember, too, the apartments before the house and a smiley-face yellow plate with mac and cheese one night, carrots or peas the next.  I remember our pets, all strays.  Five years ago I would have told you I remember my first kiss, getting hit in the mouth with a baseball, a broken arm, and tornadoes.  Ten years ago, suspension chemical imbalances rebellion swimming pools.  I recall not memories but conjunctions—movements and homes from Connecticut southwest to Oklahoma without apparent strategy yet simultaneous, similar, and concurring threads all wrapped up struggling to get me to where I am now to keep me put.  Conjunctions  because copulative—a large family, ritual, religion, late-emerging masculinity, girlfriend after girlfriend, submarine to first house.  None of it my own.  All of it shared.

(2004)