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[ed: although I despise Steve, I'm gonna take the high road and leave his last name out of this. This doesn't affect his doucebaggery]

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[ed: Kurt, shut up about the real name crap. I cut you some slack on that...if you want me to undo it, and post it along with your address, DOB and phone number, just let me know.]

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mr. d! i am positive this is all in my head, but did you erase the real name and edit all the posts to remove it, just so you could be the badass and threaten to reveal it, and more? snap!

this poem, by louise gluck, makes me dream of you.


Labor Day


Requiring something lovely on his arm
Took me to Stamford, Connecticut, a quasi-farm,
His family's; later picking up the mammoth
Girlfriend of Charlie, meanwhile trying to pawn me off
On some third guy also up for the weekend.
But Saturday we still were paired; spent
It sprawled across that sprawling acreage
Until the grass grew limp
with damp. Like me. Johnston-baby, I can still see
The pelted clover, burrs' prickle fur and gorged
Pastures spewing infinite tiny bells. You pimp.