Not much longer.
The shoes with bows, the cunning underwear
with slogans on the crotch - Knock Here,
and so forth -
will have to go, along with the cat suit.
After a while you forget
what you really look like.
You think your mouth is the size it was.
You pretend not to care.
When I was young I went with my hair
hiding one eye, thinking myself daring;
off to the movies in my jaunty pencil
skirt and elastic cinch-belt
chewed gum, left lipstick
imprints the shape of grateful, rubbery
sighs on the cigarettes of men
I hardly knew and didn’t want to.
Men were a skill, you had to have
good hands, breathe into
their nostrils, as for horses. It was something I did well,
like playing the flute, although I don’t.
Currently i’m 7 away from having answered the question “What Are You Doing?” on Twitter. Since it is only 8 o’clock on a Saturday night, I’m assuming the 6000th Tweet will be happening within 2 hours or so… possibly at the El Rey theatre for the Sweater Festival catching Castledoor hopefully ;)
I have a lovely borrowed sweater from Danny, rather Christmassy, hoping to pair it with some tights, boots, and um… lots of Xmas cheer?
Oh… to prove how all-for-Twitter I am, I’m also in a competition. Vote for me:
That is all :)