Fre-e-mail

Observe your author
quite without his
syntactic armor
addressing his
girlfriend

(who, so far as we can tell, prefers to remain [deer-ly, doe-fully] anonymous)

in a stream
-of-
consciousness
e-mail
(fre-e-mail)
written this, the
evening of 3. Sept 2008:

thanks again for talking to me and encouraging me to take care of myself with a warm shower and a warm cup of tea and a warm book to read. my thanks to you for that. I'm a funny person to get involved with, as you know by now - by the way, this is a fre-e-mail in the most young and virginal tradition as was conceived, not altogether un-immaculately, by yours truly and fondly this afternoon - let me say that I say that flowers are nice when they can show you their smell in a chaste little gesture that's too little for any (cummings alert! shit! i slip into his too---for any--every---un---) routine like moe's hand finds it way, surely, handily, to the back of curly's head. what was I saying? you're a fine girl, in the last analysis. I'd like to you to hum more when you're looking in the refrigerator for something you forgot you needed on your cereal but that it couldn't in any spare sense of splendor do without. i want you to know that i guarantee victory. i guarantee triumph. before God, i guarantee it. it's a promise an apple tree outside our old house made to me when i contemplated the axe resting at its base. it whispered something unintelligible through the leaves, "what?" but i'll never stop forgetting myself under that tree. i get sad often, like old people do. wrinkles are prominent under my skin. i love you and thank you for the love you give me and your beet red heart from which roots stretch out ligaments moving fingers that tend to gardens.