In my mother’s car

In Sicily

We listened to mixed tapes

I made in 1992.

Back then

I still counted

Each time I took a plane,

Every single one a step

Towards adventure and adulthood.

I recently stopped counting

Something else.

After New York I don’t even know

What counts as sex

And some of those 

I prefer to forget,

The landing was rough.

My last Italian lover

Had been six years ago

So yesterday

In bed

My mouth spoke English.

My first non-Italian lover

Was Dutch

He expected me to say

Exactly

What I wanted him to do.

I miss home.

Home is not Rome.

Home is Chicago.

I was there just for three days

In June.

I didn’t even like it.

If felt small and unexciting.

But decisions are everything

And I made mine.

Who is this person I am becoming?

I usually can’t even decide what to eat.

That’s why I like restaurants

That will just bring you food,

Not menus.

As long as it’s all vegan.

Matthew used to say

That I’m afraid of missing out.

Like Britney Spears in that Youtube video.

She’s stoned and sad,

At her philosophical peak,

Munching on French fries.

I am getting tan

My eyes look more intense

When my skin is dark.

Mediterranean nights

Remind me of sex.

Sounds.
Smells.

This is my loneliest summer

Since high school.

Love seems unreal like back then,

Romanticized hormonal urges.

My maternal grandfather

Before marrying his wife

Fell in love with someone

From Rome.

She dumped him

He bought himself

A banjo,

Got over her,

Resigned himself

To a life without Eros.

Will he regret it

For the rest of his life?

I get obsessed with people

Out of boredom

And impatience.

I almost called someone tonight.

Good thing I didn’t.

Italy reminds me of painful things.

Previous selves,

A younger,

Elfish,

More beautiful me.

I told my father

How his grandmother died

He truly didn’t know

That sad dirty secret.

I drank, ate and biked

With my best friend

Who isn’t just a friend,

(We both know that

And it’s fine,

But we really should have sex

Some time,

Since his girlfriend wouldn’t mind).

Now I am in Sicily

Visiting my grandparents

Feeling angry

And guilty

Because they make each other miserable

And I just want to leave.

I wish I knew happy old people.

I would dread birthdays less.

My cat didn’t notice

I abandoned her,

But my apartment did.

It doesn’t smell like me anymore.

Television sets

Have invaded the space

They won’t let the stereo breathe.

My reading lamp 

Is lying on its side,

Crippled.

Lost are the keys

To my bicycle’s lock,

And all good pots are gone

From my kitchen.

It isn’t home

If you can’t cook dinner.

I feel anxiety mounting

So I have a glass of the Cointreau

We took from my dead Grandfather’s place.

Mine looks soulless like his did

When my father and I sat brooding in it,

After his burial.

You disappeared without a word.

It’s all for the best

Since I’m leaving New York anyway

But don’t I deserve words?

Look,

I’m writing them for strangers right now

Hasn’t someone you held all night

Twice

Earned the right 

To not be treated like a thing?

I will treat every step

As a step towards enlightenment

Or at least towards you,

Unknown Chicagoan

I will fall in love with.

What are you doing

As I’m packing my bag?

Are you petting your cat?

Writing a song about koalas?

Koalas are the sweetest animals

On earth

And they smell like eucalyptus.

To conquer my ennui

I tried to see The Future

At the MoMA.

It was sold out.

Miranda July was there

I could have asked her

If she wanted to be my friend.

I need a friend today.

I can tell it’s bad

When I won’t stop eating.

I just had three desserts:

Mango with sticky rice

Carrot cake cupcake

Raspberry white chocolate cheesecake.

Now I’m on the J

And I feel nauseous,

Which is better than sad.

I will see my cat soon

She will be happy to see me

She won’t know I’ve been away

For fifteen months.

Yesterday when I woke up

I thought I was going to see

A friend.

After checking my e-mail

I also thought I had found

An apartment in Chicago

And a blue VW van to buy.

Plus,

Breakfast was delicious.

As the day progressed

Things didn’t look as bright.

Everything fell through

Though I guess

I still have taste buds

On my tongue,

And I did make a ton

Of quinoa salad

For today.

I will need energy

Since I’m starting from scratch

Again.

It sort of stopped being funny

Long ago.

My frontal lobes

I assure you

Are intact.

I’m sitting at a booth

In a laundromat

On Broadway.

Today there is a heat wave

In New York. 

An air-conditioned space

Crowded with fat ladies

Is a good place to be.

It makes thinking easier:

I know

That you won’t call

And not because you’re busy.

We both knew

My speech about Germanic men

Applied to you as well,

My eagle-eyed friend,

But we pretended otherwise.

I am so used to this

That it feels acceptable,

Like an old scar that hurts

A little

When it’s damp.

I must have thought

It would be different.

But how.

Yesterday I drank absinthe

At the Lone Wolf bar.

There were artists everywhere,

And not enough air.

I walked to the bar next door

Where a bassist and a drummer

Wearing threatening masks

Were fighting some kind of war,

Sweat shining on their bare chests.

I sat at the bar,

Mildly entertained.

A man asked me if I was Betty.

(Another victim of online dating?)

He proceeded to buy me a drink

And talk my ear off

While I stared at my phone.

It always takes you ten hours

To write back.

Another girl would give up,

But not Miss Vella.

Sundays feel hopeful.

It is something I learned

When I was a kid.

Sundays have lost their meaning,

Since I haven’t been in school for ages

And I haven’t had a normal job

Since when I tried

And failed

To be a real person.

I am a collection

Of disjointed feelings

Glued together

By occasional concepts

Like 

Art.

Love.

Grief.

I really spend my days

Breathing in and out

Wondering who ate my avocados

Or sitting in front of my computer

Like right now,

My lungs compressed

Because of shame,

Sadness,

Longing

And unrealistic

Hopes

Of redemption,
A witless coyote.

If Bill Callahan showed up at my door

Right now

I would marry him.

Seeing him play 

Will be nice too.

After all who needs a husband.

I do have an extra ticket though,

Please apply within.

Especially if you love

Quinoa salad

White sand

Robert Wyatt singing Moon in June

You named your horse Ariel

You want to camp in the Sahara desert 

Build a straw bale house in the woods

But live in Brooklyn

If you can play the dulcimer

Or the lute.

Let’s tango on an Icelandic glacier

Use kenningar instead of boring words

From now on.

I know that I seem ridiculous,

Jumping to conclusions.

I might exaggerate

But I know

I’m right.

I can’t contain myself,

I went overboard,

So now I’m left with nothing,

Again.

I remember talking on the phone

In the North Carolina woods

To someone who loved me

More than I could ever love him.

“If you leave me

you’ll let predators in.

They’ll bite.

You’ll suffer.

Nobody can love you like I do.”

I knew he was right

I still had to jump,

Say farewell to comfort,

Welcome anxiety,

Accept I would be the more loving one,

From then on.

Time to get fettered again

My friends,

Let’s find a few willing gods

A cat’s footfall,

A woman’s beard

The spittle of birds.

It’s important to do it soon

Before it gets out of hand,

Pun not intended, Tyr.

I won’t bite you this time

I won’t bite anyone

I just need restraint

But how can I tie up myself?

My mouth would lie to my ears

Proclaim that I am nurturing,

Selfless

Shuffling those cards

For everyone’s good.

Wielding my giant eraser

Because we’re out of paper

And we need new drawings,

New tunes,

A little bit of blood.

I get greedy

More often than not.

I should make my own fire

To warm my bones.

I remind myself

That I shouldn’t want anything

That isn’t freely given

And usually it works

For about five minutes.

Soon I’m back

To my usual hunger.

My mind knows

I should sit every morning.

That would take care of it.

I know many things

But I don’t really know them,

My animal side is always stronger.

I wonder why I despise my intellect

When it is so much wiser than my flesh

So spoiled,

Craving raspberries

Kisses

Piercing gazes

Words of love.

Sometimes I wonder

If I’m filling my life with adventures

Just so that I can later write letters

To my Canadian friend Karin.

I think I might need an audience

More than real companions.

They would hold me to my word

Make me face the truth,

All of it,

Not just the shiny

Or ridiculously funny

Parts.

So far loneliness

Has worked

For me,

I panic less

I entertain myself

I fabricate glorious futures.

But not for long.

Eventually

All I crave

Is intimacy

And only a rare breed

Will do,

A fearless warrior.

I am a princess,

After all.

Yesterday I spent my day waiting.

Eventually the sun set.

I was sitting on a bench

in Father Demo Square.

As I was losing hope

A firefly came to say hello.

I conquered my entomophobia,

Hoping it would let me pet it.

Later I thought it came back

But no, just car lights on metal.

It’s dark now

I’m listening to King Crimson

My eyes are closed.

A tap on my shoulder.

It’s not Him.

“I’m sorry,

I had to tell you,

Your feet are beautiful.”

“Well. Thanks”

I say.

Even fetishists

Will do

When you need

A confidence boost.