So, using
this new toy I burned myself a super-sexy, Milla-special CD.
Track 1: Possession: Sarah McLachlan
Track 2: Raspberry Swirl, by Tori Amos
Track 3: You Set Me Free, by Michelle Branch
Track 4: Bitch, by Meredith Brooks
Track 5: Cornflake Girl, by Tori Amos
Track 6: Paint it Black, by Vanessa Carlton
Track 7: Playboy Mommy, by Tori Amos
Track 8: Angels Would Fall, by Melissa Etheridge
Track 9: She's Your Cocaine, by Tori Amos
Track 10: Breathe Your Name, by Sixpence None the Richer
Track 11: London Calling, by The Clash
I know all I've been offering lately have been silly little trifles like silver butterfly clips, but I'm not quite sure how to share the way the hot air gulps into my lungs. Or how I feel when I see the clump of phlox against the chicken wire fence. The way the bus surges like water up steep hills. Falling in love with serious-eyed college students on my way to work. My tiny table in the corner of my room. A lace cloth, the Underwood, a blue candle. A stack of books. Lolita, Mrs. Dalloway, Selected Stories (of Alice Munro), The Virgin in the Garden, The Life of Pi, Savage Beauty. A frail white and lilac hankerchief is on top of an old New York Times art section. I used to read the paper on my way to Botany.
For lack of a better term, I'm trying to gather myself into a single contained item. Right now I am scattered, so fragmented across the grass. Like the delicate spindles of a white dandelion, I guess.
