roof

i feel very sad

when i woke up
i made coffee
and put more laundry into the machine.
i talked to you
but i was already mad
and you didn't notice
even though i was being very open
while not saying much.
the apartment puckered.
the floor must love water.
all these waves in the parkay
feel like soft spots
in babies' brains
or the time i squished three tomatoes
with my hands as a joke.
i'm so tired of how dark our street gets
or how protective you are of
interesting things. i like watching
fights on the platform.
i'm really nervous
about how sad you are for me.

Sweedish Hippies in Granada

all day

i thought friends and family
were particular parts
of the love-hate center
in the brain. i hate you at the train station
but i must love you on the train
because the yellow light
makes my rinds soft,
my eye-rolls come undone.
you were for me and oh so sorry
as you rub the little tip of your nose
to my wilty, peckish check.
i am not so sorry, so foreign from
any feelings i've had today
and i engage them as i kiss you.
we are far away from the things we say
but somehow underneath them.
wouldn't it be easy to love-hate
all over?

a whole kitchenette of cigarettes

this is a division,
the soap said to the sink
in white foam
and soft, swirling sentences.
i'm in love with an idea,
but i never loved it more than you,
the soap cooed
like a baby summer lamb sunshine warm blankets.
one day, we'll return to this place
and we'll think about how changed we are,
what it took to get here.
the poor sink,
as cold as he could be he
couldn't ignore the song.
it was a sweet drip-drip,
the fleeting cling and no one ever spread over
his huge humps like that.
it rings in the mouth like metal,
hits the really wrong taste buds
but never, never
did they use their own strength to
clean it.

did you ever ask yourself?

i love sandwiches, water glasses.
i thought about coming home all night
and got mad when you asked the question right out.
i want to be free to do what i choose,
but i want it all to happen naturally.
i'd like to lick the inside of a soup bowl,
cover my hands in quarters,
eat a magnet that looks like bananas
and never tell anyone my funny story.
i, like you, know exactly what happened.

The Gig is Up

I miss home right now but I'm not feeling too sad today. We're still looking for apartments. It's easy to get homesick when everything takes so fucking long.
Ryan is watching a table tennis tournament and is really intrigued by the way one competitor spits on the end of her table. Maybe she's marking her territory or giving the corners more grip or something. Then Deb asked why the Chinese always dominate this sport and that made me mad because I'm generally mad at her right now. She woke me up this morning just to be mean.
Ryan used to tell me about playing table tennis with his grandpa and the memories sounded really funny and feeling-filled. I was too awkward to play table tennis when I was little. My arms were too long for my body and I had trouble controlling them.
I miss my friends. I miss my town. But I like Cologne. I just don't like being here right now.