Imitation Entries Week 2

I think last week was more of an imitation whereas this week, I'm going to go with more of an improv kind of thing. I'm still getting the hang of it... and this blogging thing... I'm used to livejournal. Forgive my incompetence.

Entry 1:
This one needs a preface since it isn't really specific in the syllabus what I am allowed to riff off of... I'm improving from the first (?) draft - page 142 in WP- of Trista's "Persephone" because I liked the sounds.

Beginning lines of Trista's draft... "Things that crack, things that fracture:/ show me a book, pages and pages of/ millions and millions of/ fragmented lives who give up, are given up,/ forgotten of, forgotten to."

Forgotten of and forgotten to, two of them size 7 left
for dead on the corner of Telegraph and Russell
and the sophomore with the purple hair picked them up -
because they were her size (almost) - on her way,
her way to the Buddhist temple you see after the arch
way of posies and pansies and princess flower, glory bush, purple glory
bush, purple glory she wanted them all to be purple.
All of it, all of everything, the purple everything
she wanted to carry around in her pocket because
everything fits in her pockets with the picture of her mother
and the note she found "written by jeff." dave was our
street jesus, jesus christ! Christ is somebody that gave
up. That's not how I would write the gospel. Did you see it?
On the history channel? I wanted to brush her hair and make her
lunch because i know jesus won't, because he's broken, because he broke
up with her when she was twelve and took her mom
because he could. He had, what, five punctures? but she had a million,
a million! The holes from before left in the crease of her speghetti elbows
and she's like Jesus, too. She doesn't know but she is
my Christ, my Dave, my Mom. Electric.

Entry 2:
Sheshy- If you read this, it's funny because I ended up using your concern for my discomfort from Friday. I didn't actually feel this way. Inspiration.

From "Aubade" by Philip Larkin (page 133 in WP)
"I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare."

Half-drunk and second hand smoked out
because I'm first hand allergic and dependable,
depending on the day (Mondays- I'm free).
She doesn't mean to wake me but it's four
in the fucking morning and I can't sleep
with this stench of dependence in my hair
and her legs wrapping mine, tight ballerina thighs
I've known for a decade, a decade with my tiny dancer,
her heartbeat the cadence of mine. All I want
is to sleep on the couch by myself, by my
self. We'll tell each other stories before we fall
asleep. I'll tell me my secrets because I, you, I
already know them.

But she's here and she won't leave
because I asked her to come, come out
from some dark place into my dark place
because my pillows are handmade and I thought
I was lonely. But I had myself, my self and me
don't need nobody else. I've been screaming
since we were just two kids but you don't listen
because I never made you. But you made you
love me. And I made you make me and we made
nothing our best friend. We're nobody together,
and nobody likes to sleep alone without the neighbors
and red fox dogs like busy bees in tree trunks,
the one that killed the boy with the glasses
and we raised our glasses to not
being killed.

But you're killing me. And I let you.
Because I'm half drunk and out of shampoo
and I can't look into those glaciers on your face
and say good bye or even good night. you know
the night isn't good because I'm half drunk
and I drunk half that bottle myself
to forgive you so you would give me
what I needed, somebody to keep me
from myself, my self, the only girl
i loved. and loathed. loathed like that wart
on my elbow they burned off and that skin
burned and i could smell it for weeks
haunting my nostrils and burning my boogers
to a crisp with that stench.

it's four in the morning and i can't count sheep,
i don't remember what they look like or why they
look like sheep. why we would count an animal
when we could count each other... there's two of us
or three. you, me, and myself. my self. my self.