Decemberist
12/27/09, 03:52 PM
truly you see the girl [ada] in her dormitory hiccuping away the
stripes of clandestine sentiment she tucks inside her socks
hidden beneath straighter jeans and lesser means of ways
she hasn't yet come up with; the trumpet player [marcus] in her
high school band listens to sigur ros and writes poetry
everyday or almost; clearly you can decipher her penchant for
the arts and sleeves of hearts worn on skinnier boys who
suck their thumbs and speak like glockenspiels while motioning along
others to follow; [mentioning american spirits won't give you a
clearer picture, but she buys a pack because she saw one in his
ashtray once]; in-determinants tattoo her with indifference,
on her forehead there's a freckle she's named [adam] out of
loneliness; on her left shoulder blade a birthmark shaped like a
tablespoon that measures the skin she's stretched growing up
in northern wisconsin; its not so bad there, she says, she said,
she meant she needs to get the fu.ck out of there; [marcus] is from
minnesota but he talks like he's from somewhere else,
somewhere west maybe where they over enunciate their vowels;
[ada] bought a plane ticket to visit him over christmas break,
she's never been inside an airport but thinks its close to the feeling you get when
you take an elevator or drink a lot of coffee and then try to sleep;
pretty close she is, to complete oblivion as she drinks water through a straw and
watches airplanes land and take off and land and take off and land and stop;
marcus really loves her;
whales really hate the water;
everyone is born without teeth;
someone is dead on a mattress;
everyone is dead in the street;
[ada] is carrying her luggage,
she drags it along by her feet;
someone hails a cab;
someone forgets their name;
something else was said and
said and then
said once again to the right effect.
stripes of clandestine sentiment she tucks inside her socks
hidden beneath straighter jeans and lesser means of ways
she hasn't yet come up with; the trumpet player [marcus] in her
high school band listens to sigur ros and writes poetry
everyday or almost; clearly you can decipher her penchant for
the arts and sleeves of hearts worn on skinnier boys who
suck their thumbs and speak like glockenspiels while motioning along
others to follow; [mentioning american spirits won't give you a
clearer picture, but she buys a pack because she saw one in his
ashtray once]; in-determinants tattoo her with indifference,
on her forehead there's a freckle she's named [adam] out of
loneliness; on her left shoulder blade a birthmark shaped like a
tablespoon that measures the skin she's stretched growing up
in northern wisconsin; its not so bad there, she says, she said,
she meant she needs to get the fu.ck out of there; [marcus] is from
minnesota but he talks like he's from somewhere else,
somewhere west maybe where they over enunciate their vowels;
[ada] bought a plane ticket to visit him over christmas break,
she's never been inside an airport but thinks its close to the feeling you get when
you take an elevator or drink a lot of coffee and then try to sleep;
pretty close she is, to complete oblivion as she drinks water through a straw and
watches airplanes land and take off and land and take off and land and stop;
marcus really loves her;
whales really hate the water;
everyone is born without teeth;
someone is dead on a mattress;
everyone is dead in the street;
[ada] is carrying her luggage,
she drags it along by her feet;
someone hails a cab;
someone forgets their name;
something else was said and
said and then
said once again to the right effect.