alone_again stork daddy I. in a new city, new words i'm expected to know. appelates, and handshakes which convey abbreviations of pages and pages i haven't found appropriate abbreviations for as of yet. i'm bewildered by the comfort other people have in their shoes. the confidence in their voices or suits. I could not imagine an adult crying, i could not tell a mistake in them from their normal happy actions. they're all adults to me again, underneath buildings who i imagine are their adults. even children now, their every action seems planned to me. So i'd be as content to learn from fools, to doubt myself. I do not have their suits. my links to their world on another coast. mother, professor, drinking buddy, girlfriend. I'm awaiting roles again. indecipherable, incoherant. in need of translation. grownups read their magazines and make no sense to me. they're all doctors. i only have a journal. i only have my forgetful mimicry, and most wait for a hello like sustenance starve and learn the answers of dirt and concrete, the duties and deaths they build cities on. they prune away- too naked? they bury you you need a suit. II. my mother told me i need a suit for First Communion. my wrists, their peeking blue veins had to be restrained under gold buttons, the priests words had to be returned to him in the shine of my shoes. i'd need new words new requests and grounds for dissent. but mainly a new suit, a new walk. i didn't have to understand it, my feet did. I walked the new walk, and there in their hands (their new walks aged to mechanical confidence right down to clocklike showings of spontaneous appreciation of some depth) there in their hands, a diploma, the blessed eucharist, communion. I had succesfully completed hello. One of them, i existed now. I could doubt from the inside- look to new possible endings, tell where my suit was worn or in need of a button. 040326 what's it to you? who go blather from