Darjeeling

In the water unfurling

at 100 degrees

the tea leaves grow flaccid

and release a scent Asiatic

that cries of peasant farmers,

toils, blood, and trade

sipped mercilessly from china Limousin

in gardens Babylonian.

10:50 PM

Sometimes I feel ridiculous. It's like my head is full of the brightest ideas but I don't actually ever write them or put them down onto any tangible substance. I can be the greatest thing in my mind but it's not yet the time that I (or anybody else, for that matter) will see any of that in a productive way. I don't mean to sound down or depressed because I'm not; it's just funny to me. When I try to think of things I've written I draw a blank. It's like I've never actually written anything. And yet when I search the folders on my computer of writing I find what appears to be vast amounts of text and prose, just nothing completed or committed to. And then I think that this microscopic bit of work pales in comparison to anything else any writer I would care of would have had lying around. I'm almost terrified to call myself a writer - it just sounds so self-conscious and assuming. One who writes. I guess what I mean is that it implies talent, and until I'm sure that I have some I'm not going to want to go around branding myself as somebody with merit. I'm not ready to put myself into a category of writers (I mean Plath, Hollinghurst, and Austen were writers) until somebody else does it for me. I'm not sure how to appraise my own writing - when I did visual arts it was easy; the difference between good and bad was right there in front of one's eyes. Music performed is the same and the ear attests to the quality of a performance or composition. Acting, dancing, etc... But writing! Writing appears as black shapes on a page and I need to sift through it with my brain and my heart before I can hope to say if it's even satisfactory.

A friend of mine gave me some poetry today that she wrote years ago about England and the changing of the seasons. She thought I would be interested because as weird as it sounds in a month I'll be living there. Maybe when I get to Falmouth and I'm forced to sit down and scrawl words onto a page I'll be able to work through something until it satisfies me. I really just cannot wait.

Dancer

Your tapering heels

and lush textiles obscure

the pedestrian insecurities

to which we all are prone.


With a crimson laugh and a breath of perfume

announce yourself to the room.

Homecoming

We won't entertain you in this

house anymore;

there's simply not the room.


It's ours at last

after fifty-eight years

the sparrow's nest is hewn.


In walls and rooms to our voices fresh

the diving-bell angst, the asphyxiating silence is gone.

Alexander

Over time

your words turn into icicles

and I'm never quite sure what to say

when the sun comes up.

Vignette

In my banal existence

there is nothing less than pure sex

in the magnetism I feel

when our faces nearly touch.

Like a Child

With my breath

I push away your

tiny seeds

to float upon clouds.

Will you carry yourselves

to a place where you might

germinate more than another

dandelion?

Telephone

The ring of the telephone,

that high-pitched squeal,

may be the bane of existence

to my mother

but for nine months has been

the sound of my Nirvana.

Yay + Gay

In all my listening,

my observation,

my keen regard,

I've discovered

you have a talent

for making even expletives

sound gorgeous.

Drunk

Drunk as fools

without alibi

we wandered that wonderland

of whitewashed houses

wedged together like teeth along

the cobbled way,

your arm finding my side

and holding me fast

for you knew I should otherwise fall.

Drunk as fools,

for we were, and are, fools,

our feet pulling us forward

into nowhere

we found, as do birds,

a niche in a wall where we might not be seen

and our lips found each other

again and again,

one thousand times.

In inebriation,

bedded down in dewy grasses

we passed the night watched only by

the moon;

unaware of anything but the undulations

of our bodies.

When sunlight found us,

heads heavy,

sodden in sleep

and in tedious migraine

we crawled back to the road

and in the harsh brightness of day

we prevailed upon ourselves

to think.

Ophelia

Borne down by my fallen things;

water sodden

as if that fluid calls me back

to Earth;

back to that vacuum.

Oh, respite!

Garments heavy

pool around me,

fanned out as a bird

in flight beneath the surface.

In one final act of beauty I cease.

Two Lilies

In the cold February

you bloom;

eight petals flush against my ribs

in the warmth of

my centre.

Your fragrance

entrances me;

reminds me of the valley

and the rocky coast

so far yet always inside.

There is music in your colour;

notes repeated

to form a harmony remembered

in more than my ear.

Golden pollen

adorns my body;

words from your mouth;

remembrances of where your lips have touched.

I open,

curling back to expose to you

everything you have shown me to be yours.

Tiffins

Le matin

en me réveillant

je regarde mon montre et

je pense à ce que t'es en train

de faire.

T'es sûrement au bistrôt

ou tu travailles

ces heures trop longues.

Tu débarsse les tables

et tu fais des choses qu'il faut.

Et au bistrôt je vois

la vitrine

où je t'ai vu

pour la première fois

la soirée que tu m'as acheté

du thé.

Je vois aussi

les serveuses qui

ont rican en me voyant

au comptoir

et j'entends sa voix.

Tu parlais en français

à l'accent d'un anglais

et t'as souri.

C'est une soirée que j'oublierai jamais.

J

Every thing of beauty

draws me back to you,

oh you;

you part of me whose existence

I never knew.

When our eyes meet

through the

window

the world seems to

melt back and

I stop on the cobblestone

and I realize that

the same light

which plays so brightly

upon each wave in the sea

bathes your soul.

In your eyes there is

an understanding,

as if my latent knowledge

has found its

equation.

Though I can live without you

I would rather still

press my hand to yours and say

"I'm home."

Bell

when I touched my lips

to the picture

did you feel anything?

did you notice the electric shock

that traveled a continent?

did you hear the bird

that sang your name?

or maybe, for a moment,

did you think of me?