For P.W.

My friend is addicted to sex. It always "finds her," so she happily accepts this fate. I listen in admiration, and a dash of envy, to tales of wild escapades with one man, usually, for a short period. There are moments I swear she springs from a cloud. Speaking so freely I can't tell what color her eyes really are. Maybe that's the part I admire. The freeness, in spite of the plan. Long hours of excavation. Sometime when dusk and dawn are the same. Hell-women go blind down there. Nobody keeping watch. My friend knows this, that clever girl. Breathing good, unadulterated fire while she has off. And in the right light, her eyes are green.

isn't she lovely

happy earth day

Making Changes

An important poem I wrote for workshop was swallowed up by a very public computer. All its content gone. How did I manage to go from soaking wet, filled to the brim, belly aching, whole-lot-o-love full to zero items in less than 24 hours?

I'm making changes. TBC...

Instant Coffee Fix

I just got back from my walk to the market. It was umbrella carnage out there, but I was desperate for instant coffee. The wind was so strong I thought I'd end up dangling from a traffic light, at which point I'd have to test my Mary Poppins skills and attempt to land safely at the deli across the street. All for a cup. Thankfully, soaking wet jeans was the worst of the weather. This month I'm trying Bustelo Supreme, a company I remember fondly in my youth. Did I ever mention I started drinking coffee at age 3? Yes, that explains my height. Bustelo is 100% freeze dried Colombiana. It has to be tasty. Colombian imports always are, ouch!

April Song

I'm appreciating the simple pleasures with such heightened awareness I'm afraid I'll tip over. Even what is missing gets a song. Snowflakes landing on an eyelash or my tongue. Rocking a swing with arms stretched, so that my feet touch the sky. Most recently it was for magnolia. It meant tipping over backwards for the last time (I promise), but the patrons, if not my flower, heard me.

Happy Birthday William

Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;

If you guessed Lorenzo in The Merchant of Venice, you win a quill or a big, poofy, white shirt. I went to the Shakespeare Birthday Marathon at Hunter last night with two of the wittiest people ever. We laughed, we yawned, we growled. Our stomachs did anyway. Highlights included scenes from "As You Like It," "The Merchant...," "Much Ado...," with a wonderful assortment of actors, the hilarious "Complete Works (Abridged) - The Comedies," Tom Wopat singing a selection from "Kiss Me Kate" (I impressed everyone & showed my age big time by pointing out he was one of the Dukes...er of Hazzard), an opera singer, who might have been the best actor there, doing a piece from Verdi's "Falstaff," etc... We debated on when to leave because none of us wanted to. Ultimately, we did in the 3rd set. I don't care if it's William alive and well in his birthday suit, 3 hours is 3 hours too long without food in your belly. We ate pizza while plotting our next venture. Who knows what it will be. Probably something involving blueberries and beer, preferrably from Blue Point.

Cherry Pickin'

My idols today are sweet little ladies, who kick ass!

Happy Easter... from me, Cherry, & Cheri.

Stargazing

There are very few men, less than a handful, I would have wanted to take to the sod farms (which seem to get smaller every year). Just to see. One of them contacted me the other night. Sent me a poem. I'm not sure why because we were ages ago. It was sweet to have this mutual fondness for our brief togetherness. Stargazing. We held hands writing each other, I think, and then parted ways at dawn as old flames do.

Land of Talk

I've said too much. Always do. Is that a girl thing? I hope not. Otherwise, I'm really making us look bad. Maybe the talking will turn into one of those things a man cradles a woman for while she washes dishes. The stroking of my cheek or chuckling after I'm done telling, after I'm gone. Funny, I remember at times being silent when craving that kind of response most. Irony for the girls from the land of talk, I guess.

Thank g*d for live music. I was in there tonight, so I got to just listen. I'm good at listening.

Cycle 4

On Sunday I rode with a Puerto Rican vegan, whose dreads, among other things, would make Bob Marley proud. We drove to Central Park in a nifty jeep and did about 7 miles fairly quickly since it looked like it would downpour any second. I went down my first traily hill without falling. It/I was super cool. Later that day, I lost my balance admiring a f*cking brownstone in the midst of posh 10+ story buildings. Super lame. My left knee hit the hexagonal concrete and now I have a war wound with a cheesy back story to it. Damn you, yuppy scum!

Montauk

Antique shops, the Old Stove Pub, a pond surrounded by trees with old-lady elbows for branches, more vineyards, tiny cemetaries, horsies, those sacred dunes, a cliff, and the lighthouse... my head is swimming with impressions. Sadly, I only have these photos from an obsolete 3.3 megapixel camera. I'm hoping the others will be more of the "something-like" what I saw on March 24th.