Nobody is ListeningThe other me who wrote thisLived far away and did thingsI didn'tRosy-fingered dawn peeled off a postcardWish you were hereToo bad I never mean itWords that look good on paperNever sing in your earsQuite the way that Stevie didLife is not in concertScribbled goodbye on a letterAddressed to no one knowsTransfer paper doesn't workOn skinTry again, same results"Do or Die" means there's a choicePreferred to paper or plasticBuilt the bombDidn't light the fuseNerves only extend so farFrom your hitchhiking thumbBloody Coward.
Frog Tails Day 6The 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 wordLove is more effective as a verbKeep your head above the mobDon'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