personals by c.d. wright

                  some nights I sleep with my dress on.

                  my teeth are small and even.

                  i don’t get headaches.

                  since 1971 or before, I have hunted a bench where I could eat my pimento cheese in peace.

                  if this were tennessee and across that river, arkansas, I’d meet you in west memphis tonight.

                  we could have a big time.

                  danger, shoulder soft.

                  do not lie or lean on me.

                  i’ve seen people die of money.

                  look at admiral benbow.

                  i wish like certain fishes, we came equipped with light organs.

                  which reminds me of a little known fact: if we were going the speed of light, this dome would be shrinking while we were gaining weight.

                  isn’t the road crooked and steep.

                  in this humidity, I make repairs by night.

                  i’m not one among millions who saw monroe’s face in the moon.

                  if I could afford it I’d live in hotels.

                  i won awards in spelling and the australian crawl.

                  long long ago. grandmother married a man named ivan.

                  the men called him eve.

                  stranger, to tell the truth, in dog years I am up there.