Web of Desires
My limbs are tangled in a web of strings, most from my past, some from my present. Desire. I want to write lines like I have sought pure splendor and She caught my star. But they’ve already been written by Mike Doughty (in German, nonetheless). I want intense talent. I want an intense life. I want to bring a dozen books home from the library, toss them on my little girl bed with its lavender bedspread, and decide which to read next. I want to ride the Tilt-a-Whirl. I want to meet Matt Wilson, wordsmith extraordinaire of the 1990s alternative band Trip Shakespeare. I want to stand on the beach with my feet buried in the sand. I want to run out to an ice cream truck, clutching quarters, and return with a Dreamsicle in my hand. I want to get a pixie haircut, become a suicide girl, kiss my dog. I want to go back in time, to be young for one more night. I want to ice skate in the woods and then sit by a fire. I want to be free and live without warning, unfettered and alive.