-p-o-d-g-e-

number one: an excuse

i wanted to know what it would feel like to walk through the swamp
behind the lodge wearing my lo-tops and ryan's socks.

then i thought about my car--new--tan interior--no rubber floor mats.

i didn't.

number two: a true story

a russian man, tall blonde,

matvey

he liked to be called bruno

says: "girl you drink"

when he's sober he calls me "katy"

when i say no he says: "why not?"

and "are you drunk?"

but when he's sober he doesn't sing.

number three: confession

i can't get "leave the peaches out" into a poem.

i can't tell if it's really him.

number four: lost and found

one, two all the way up to ten—
naked toes on a cold cloud of sand
left by wind & travelers on the asphalt.

number five: podge

he poked my side, said to listen.
i watched him instead, lip-sinking the words
to an automatic* song.

number six: define it yourself

this is a mixed bag of goodies;
just like your religion.






*automatic are/were(?) a band who's bassist, rob, is good mates with ryan.