PERSONALS by CD 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’m still trying to find a job for which a simple machine isn’t better suited.
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.
i go blank looking at that face.
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.