A Ginger Snaps

OR ‘PEAKED’

BUT PIQUED

‘PIQUED MY INTEREST’

YOU ARE NOT ‘PHASED’. YOU ARE ‘FAZED.’

IF IT HAS BEEN A VERY LONG DAY, YOU ARE ‘WEARY’. IF SOMEONE IS ACTING IN A WAY THAT MAKES YOU SUSPICIOUS, YOU ARE ‘WARY’.

ALL IN ‘DUE’ TIME, NOT ‘DO’ TIME

‘PER SE’ NOT ‘PER SAY’

BREATH - THE NOUN FORM

THEY ARE NOT INTERCHANGEABLE

WANDER - TO WALK ABOUT AIMLESSLY

WONDER - TO THINK OF IN A DREAMLIKE AND/OR WISTFUL MANNER

BALL- A FUCKING BALL

Loose- untight

Their = belonging to them

can’t = a contraction for cannot

Me realising there are some things I didn’t already know:

TWO- 2, A NUMBER BETWEEN 1 AND 3

WORD, THE MUSIC IS TOO LOUD,

THE SHIRT IS TOO LOOSE.

ROGUE: CRIMINAL/REBEL/VAGRANT/ETC

ROUGE: RED MAKEUP

If he’s not moving, he’s STATIONARY.

If it’s someone ruling over people, it’s REIGN

If you’re telling someone they’re going to have to reconsider an opinion or course of action, then they have ANOTHER THINK COMING

HOARD - (n.) a collection of stuff, (vb) to collect a collection of stuff.

HORDE - (n.) a collection, group, mob or host of people, often unruly or barbaric.

PEEL - (n.) the outside skin of fruit, also (archaic n.) a tower house, sometimes spelled PELE; (vb) to remove the outside skin of fruit; by extension, usually as PEEL OFF, to remove clothing, but also (aviation) to break away, one aircraft at a time, from a larger formation.

PEAL - (n.) the sound of several church bells ringing together or in sequence; (vb.) to ring bells in this manner.

BREACH - (n.) a break or opening, usually in a wall; (vb) to make such an opening, also a whale rising clear of the surface of the sea. (The words BREACH and BREAK are distant relatives.)

BREECH - (n.) the bottom end of a gun-barrel, where it’s loaded; also (BREECH PRESENTATION) a baby being born bottom-foremost; also (n. pl.) BREECHES, a historical style of trousers ending just below the knee and (archaic vb) to BREECH, to dress a boy in breeches (adult clothing) for the first time.

i went to a farmer’s market

with my mom and dad

and we passed a bookstore

in the window of the shop, a sign:

“book signing today! by some old man!“

“i know him!” cried my mom

so in we went – like perseus, unaware that he was about to face

(probably medusa)

(i forget)

(i’m not looking it up and also don’t tell me)

fuck me, he was a poet.

the book guy, i mean.

worse, he read a few poems out loud

directly at me

while i tried to figure out where to look

(because eye contact would only make it worse)

a brief summary of these poems:

some old fuck’s memories of how

Mountain Towns Once Were

and how

Mountain Towns Are Not Like That Now.

guess whose fault it was

it was cellphones.

i thought: this guy has a book because he took his sentences

and he pressed enter

a lot in

the middle

and did some weird things with The Capitals

and now he calls himself a poet

and reads at people who just wanted to

buy some fucking produce

jesus

it’s not that fucking hard jeffrey

demanding

you have no right to control another person's feelings

does not provide a productive alternative

"when you hide behind that rock I feel as though you don't appreciate the fact that I came all this way to deliver the word of god"

statement of fact

not pushy

opens conversation to productive compromise