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Nobody is Listening
The other me who wrote this
Lived far away and did things
Rosy-fingered dawn peeled off a postcard
Wish you were here
Too bad I never mean it
Words that look good on paper
Never sing in your ears
Quite the way that Stevie did
Life is not in concert
Scribbled goodbye on a letter
Addressed to no one knows
Transfer paper doesn't work
Try again, same results
"Do or Die" means there's a choice
Preferred to paper or plastic
Built the bomb
Didn't light the fuse
Nerves only extend so far
From your hitchhiking thumb
Frog Tails Day 6
The fact that we weren't late is worthy of mention. Not a terribly interesting fact, but it made me happy that it wasn't just my opinion or wishful thinking. Most of my teachers weren't crazy about me anyway, so it was best to stay as far away from their bad sides as I was able.
My ankle was starting to really bug me though, and the stairs that disliked me on a normal basis were having a field day. Currently, I was on my way to my last class before lunch, and if I tripped one more time, I was going to bellow some very nasty words and phrases. There was still another half flight of stairs to go, and then a thirty second walk to the door. More steps from the door to a desk. I bit back yet another curse and told myself that giving up swearing was good. Big brothers should be models of decorum.
I squeezed myself out of the way of other people using the stairs and crouched with the pretense of tying my shoe. &
Frog Tails Day 3It was ten o'clock. Dad's plane had left around 18:00 or 19:00, which meant that he was still in the air. I could never remember how long the drive to the airport was, I mean, it wasn't like I went there often, but he'd left a copy of his flight criteria, so I knew exactly how long the flight was. Seven hours and fifty-seven minutes. My dad was probably spending every second of it either trying to get comfortable or scribbling on the airsickness bag with his favorite ballpoint pen.
As for me Well, I was lying with my back on the couch cushions and my legs draped over the back of the couch. My head didn't quite touch the floor, but I could hear my hair swishing on the carpet when I moved. The television was on, but I had no idea what was playing. Maybe a movie. I couldn't tell, I was too busy reading The Story of My Experiments with Truth. The sound was muted too, s
Frog Tails Day 1"Place your trust in the spoken word
Love is more effective as a verb
Keep your head above the mob
Don't let them steal your faith from God"
My dad wrote that. He was a poet once, though it's a rare person who could pass on that information. When I asked him why he stopped writing poems, he said that when my mother died, his muse left him to become a drunk so he wouldn't do that to me. A poet he remains, but his pen embraced the less artistic role of signing checks and field trip permission slips a long time ago.
It had been quite a few years since the last permission slip. Signatures were still something he had to offer me, however. I grinned from my place in the cramped attic, squinting past the dustmites swimming in the sunbeam that wrapped around me. Dad did plenty of things for me, always had, and today he was going to cosign for my car. At last. I'd had my eye on that baby for a year and a hal
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