so, um so there's this boy... "puppy masochist" i don't know his real name, but i know everything about him that comes after. he's real small and bony like a real innocent beetle that shows itself when your attention is spinning in circles. it's early spring and the sky is white like nothing and everyone's mom has long bought their son or daughter rain boots for the wet season.
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i'm underneath the bridge with him it's just us, the blue mosquitos in our ears, the long tunneling 'woosh' of the afternoon train puppy, with a black crayon in his little fist scribbles black writing along the gray supports of the bridge. puppy stretches his hands across saintly i brush the hair out of my eyes and i can't even read his messy charcoal handwriting
"what's it say?" i ask.
he says nothing and i feel so stupid for asking, so he writes something else.
i'm standing next to puppy and he's scribbling away
Summer vacation I gave all of my feelings new names And now I can't tell the difference between them
