Thursday, May 11, 2006


It looks like a bottle of white paint fell, and stained a steel-colored sky. But it isn't raining.

It's just threatening to rain.

Like a rich father, threatening to "cut off" his Yale-bound son.

The farther away from here, the darker the sky. It's raining somewhere.
A summer rain.

It smells like before, though.
It smells like eight months ago.

It smells like August and last year and four years ago.

I think I'm afflicted with an overdeveloped sense of whatever it is that ties smells to memories.

It's so humid it might as well rain. It hasn't been humid like this since September.

I'm ripping the colors off my walls, and finding a bunch of holes behind them.
And everything I own conveniently fits inside stolen milk crates and brown cardboard boxes and big rubber tubs.

Oh well.

It still isn't raining.