On Glitter and Doom

Working on a new Michael Field poem for my dissertation and somewhere some hundred miles from here Tom Waits is scratching out those first few notes and if I imagine well enough, I feel like my dress might just drop off me from here. But I am in a public coffeehouse and I am writing verse like a T.W. himself would endorse as a response to art and its numerous ways to break a heart. Give me a grapefruit moon and a ruby-red sunrise on the day called tomorrow.

Flowers to Give to Someone You Love

was a sign in one of three pails of water with bunches of freshly-picked flowers in them. The gaslight district is a special place and I have been so grateful to live here. There is a true village sense to it and the neighborhood is so beautiful as to seem almost Disneyed-out on a daily basis--pink skies, blue clouds, bits of fiery dusk, butterflies everywhere, birds, children, all manner of summer on an avenue.

My Lovely Hooligan

the cry of a crow is (indeed) an inarticulate thing (S.B.Louis)

I miss you. And Elvis is right, this could be our finest hour.
Caw, caw, caw, come back.

Dream About Dream About

Me, Geek Love, February, garbage plate, Richard Thompson, May, Darth Vadar hanging on every note.

Sunday morning oatmeal, some time spent with Pearl and Amy and the last of my slow-cooked oatmeal. A whole day before I road trip again and I am strangely looking forward to it. I have been known to drive there at insane rates of speed just to head to a house numbered forty-three and wait a century for the door to open.

His Music and His Music and a Garland of Figs and a City

I'm leaving and city that in which I'm beginning to love. And the days don't pass for nothing do they? Even if I'm one beat too late and unlike all this music (new to me) I'm a little off-key, but guess what? Not too much. I mean I am sad, sad, sad about goodbying this town but I spent a whole day and clear into the night in my new city and was loathe to leave and this kicking and screaming may be for nothing, my new life might be kind of wonderful. Last night's electrical storm was amazing, the sky had just given up most of that sunburnt end of day color when this really dark sky crawled over the east side of the horizon and with it: strings of copper-colored lightning--how that? But it was and it was so gorgeous, I wanted to send it to all of you. Today I yard-saled myself into the hottest little Simmons desk for my new dwelling (yes, Babies, I said office--home office and work office--a girl can't be a loser her whole, long life.) A little deco coffee-table and the coolest old medical diagram of the human body muscle and bone. In the ottoman I bought to keep at my temporary home, I packed away a kitchen kiss with its vertigo that had not a thing to do with the gin.

There's a someone in New York (maybe the Jersey coast tonight, actually) and a someone sorry. There's a someone late to the station but there nonetheless and here completely. For whatever it's worth.

The Things I Meant to Say

Involved May, a convertable Mustang and ocean flanking us; involved motorcycle cop sunglasses dirt-cheap and bought where we bought the t-shirts and Who (after all,) Does Speak for Zack? Involved kisses that send the whole world spinning doubly; involved an older couple sitting on the sidewalk outside the ice cream shop sharing a bag of saltwater taffy, and two birds--greasy-looking and prismed--feeding one another an earthworm. Involved a door that reads Dr. Intagliod.