Pajama Party

I don't want to become the world's

In blond girls I always sense depressionĀ  I want to protect them I dye my hair blond

The song of the air is the song of something else Here I am not the air's child, the water laps at me, takes possession, though I say, "stop," There is a tiny me in my inner ear And she is all wet

I'm just like talking about some stuff Here on the Train Industrial yards and junk trucks the backdrop to my beautiful epiphanies

Dispatches from the creek


In Germany the train passes graffiti on a boxcar spelling my last name Loops and curlicues -- In English, "glasses"


On Paul Robeson Avenue I think Man, if I had known all you needed to get into this school was a field hockey career Then I shake my hips around I dislodge the thought but cannot locate it It is somewhere in the night in Germany

Is consciousness really all up in the head because when my center pulses with jellyfish it does no good to ignore it Abstrusity from the highest mountainĀ  A building falling apart in place No red tape, no red squiggle lines Someone paints everything pink with a bottle While nothing will be said of birthright, You can call these places home

I look at you and you are like the great idiot of my life and I love you

Emily Brill, 24, Los Angeles