Monday, December 09, 2002

Daintily and Ray and kid write poetry.

And damnit I kicked that filthy habit years ago.

But I started again. Help me. Someone help me please? Help? Me?

What’s It Like To Kiss Dostoevsky?

I believe somehow I can know
his smell—vinegary but not overpowering
the tang of a pickling brine rather than the apple cider kind
the smell of unwashed clothes, a gentle dusty smell
wiry prickles, awkwardness, then soft, moisture.
I will have my eyes closed.


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