the cure reminds me of purple glitter, asteroids and corduroy. pictures of you evokes white cinder block walls, duct tape, chalked hands and hanging plants with forbidden contents. gold rush in a bottle, thick syrup that burns the throat, and the first time i saw jupiter. it reminds me of the screen on my window, sliding glass panes, and a dripping parking lot. passersby, penitent love, intoxicated lust, furniture rearranged. kind green eyes and six bowls of lucky charms later, the purple still rises from the sound of the cure and seems to follow me like the chasing tail of a comet.
ironic lessons in knot-tying...
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