it’s been a long day.
a day when every gesture seems forced (never forceful); where bridges, cliffs, balconies and rooftops make one beautiful, candid family; where the head pounds, predictable, in a mess of heavy curls.
i missed the beginning of the month.
***
the lycée girls are commenting on a boy, the boy who had just talked to them. they think he is oily. his hair, his face: oily. an adipose sight. l’âge ingrat. they all gather and leave at the order of their teacher.
there is a woman, dressed in black, red haired, faded. all cold fire, burning out. then, two men. brothers in noses. big noses always catch my eye, they get my observation, a note in my book. not small ones. i never see the smalls one. the perfect noses, they mean nothing to me.
an angel cleft, high cheekbones.
people wait for the train.
someone presses on the gas pedal of a motorcycle.
there is the train.