Little things/little thoughts

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I have a tendency to start writing and then stop. So I’m left with a lot of sentences and phrases that don’t get strung together with anything larger. Sometimes though, there is beauty in the small little things, or the small little thoughts. Here are some of mine today:

Musings

Generational sins get passed down so carelessly. Porous and permissive.
__________________

Cut the line for communion. Whoops. Jesus is my homeboy.

______________________

Craigslist tells me that 
you can make big money,
make big money
writing little books
— & eBooks. 
_______________________________
This morning I spilled my coffee,  
then deleted my manuscript. 
It was half a page 
in notated form 
with spell check turned off 
because my Microsoft Word is too old for new software, 
too old for new software.
So really, this morning I spilled my coffee, 
then deleted a lot of misspelled words. 
_______________________________________
You sit in the sun and read —
and I make up a story for you, 
like you’re a page to be read. 
A light blue shirt because it reminds you of being back home 
where the lake would glow and gurgle slowly to the pace of the wind. 
Shorts – kahki – because it’s hot today, unseasonably hot for October —
but that’s Southern California. 
You look up when a girl with a backpack on passes by. 
Uncross your legs and bring one up to your side. 
New Balance shoes on because you biked here. 
You want to save the environment and restore the air quality, one pedal at a time. 
Now you stand up. 
Sweat spots linger lightly on your back. 
You look down the street. 
You’re looking for someone. 
Sit back down. 
Cough softly but not too softly because you have a tickle in your throat, not a cold. 
You’re healthy and active, 
an outdoors type of man.
Polite too because you move your foot out of the way, when a woman gets up to leave. 
You take out an orange highlighter.
You’re reading a classic — Oedipus Rex —
or a trashy romance novel, 
poetry, 
Steinbeck and The Grapes of Wrath.
Close the book. 
Guess I’ll never know. 
____________________________
Late nights 
and hot air,
sticky hair 
28th street 
heat,
meet me for
more
drip coffee 
see
rain fall,
rainfall in summer
— a foreign concept
onsets this set 
of strung together circumstances. 
______________________________
Empty soda bottles and wine boxes,
warped hardwood floors, 
unpainted patches, 
fruit flys 
meander by 
and the house swayed as big-rigs swerved by 

swear
to 
God
________________
I exist somewhere in-between plastic and woman.
I feel entirely static. Like bones that do not grow, but are place within skin solely to occupy space.
____________________

XX,

Abby

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