if you care to know what
life was like
for a teenage girl,
in Buffalo, NY
i would have to tell you,
that indeed,
stonewash jeans were HOT
and even more so,
if they were rolled up,
folded, and p i n n e d.

it was the tail end
of punks,
with the rise of grunge,
pearl jam
s o u n d g a r d e n and
REM
michael jackson
and
p r i n c e.
SNL, chicken wings,
and
the phantom of the opera

the world was sad
the middle east was sad
and the president was
a pervert.

what more is there to say?
other than the
driveway and porch parties
and of course,
computers
pagers and
andy warhol.

there really wan't
much to it.
camping,
stars in the country and
crisp fall air and
winters that never ended.
brutal sun,
freezie pops and
dance routines.
i was a girl.
what more can i say?

has it ever
occurred to you
that it quite simply
doesn't matter
what you think?

(or why start smoking
in your late thirties)

a confession.


the w h i t e paper
thin, c r i s p
against tips
of fingers
with the t h i n n e s t lines of gold
the burnt umber
to the brown
to the beige
to the white
to the black
black
black
i n h a l e
suddenly i'm alive
i know because i can feel
something
(anything)
then the
e x h a l e
each cycle a moment
suspended in time
the wisps of smoke
transient
unique
and finally
the smell
an
a n c h o r.

not what you expected?

you lit my fire,
and no other fool
has been able
to do it since.