at an indie rock bar in paris valentine's day weekend

2/15/11

i pulled away from the tall guy

i have to go, i said

why? he asked

but i think he understood

i pulled away from the guy who was singing at the bar

and i said, your words are proud but they're empty

you speak a language you're sure only you understand

and you don't try to understand anyone else

and then he pushed me away

he didn't get what i was saying

i pulled away from a french guy

i don't speak french, i said

anglais, anglais, oui anglais

hablas español?  si!

quieres bailar?  ok!

mis padres son de españa

no, no, no bailes así, te estás pisando los pies a mí.

pero estoy emborrachada!

no me importa -- sígueme, sígueme.

mejor.  a los pies les voy a enseñar a hablar.  si?  ok.

i pulled away from the business man

i said something he didn't understand

i wish i knew more english, he said

i said i'm the one who's in paris

he gave me his business card

call me please tomorrow, he said

the next day i found it in my bed

i threw it all away

Voto

I vaguely remember your face that afternoon
the linen cloth reflected through the room
the sweaty ebony; the tight wound strings, the tune
the long-forgotten song snipped from the loom

Bravo to you
a thousand paper hearts to you
my memory, a mantra, chants adieu
adieu
adieu, adieu, adieu.

What cosmic certainty fuels working hands?
What power tames the wilderness of time?
all lesser lives sift down like lesser sand
unfazed by tears; by music or by rhyme

You said -- I think you fit it to a tee --
our inner cups are filled with surging spirit;
our music wrings us out when others hear it
lover, you took a sip of me

And so I stoke my heart
with measuring spoons
my do-I's kept at bay by lacy Junes
by lifted veils and shallow drafts run dry --
when shallow sunsets open heavy eyes,
I'm left alone to slouch and wonder why

Their over-potent tepid brew of passion
demands and fades away again
like fashion
when their insides turn to objects --
lesser beings --
they're reduced to empty cans.
tin, cold
unfeeling

Bravo
pretentious, flat adieu.

Adieu, foe,
to things I wish I knew.

la broma es demasiado viejo

la broma es demasiado viejo

la canción ha sido cantado otra vez

las palabras dichas además de

mi corazón latiendo como

ojo parpadeando como

aliento inspirado como

un disco roto

y ¿qué será la historia?

no tendría principio ni fin

y nada en medio

sin objeto

mi mente es tan vacia

como un libro abierto

las palabras leídos 

sueños repetidos

parecería que no tenga nada para decir

las cosas envueltas en hojas de plátanos

en un envase de Tupperware

en datos científicas

en las pañales de jesus, recién nacido

y en mis creencias

¿dónde hay, adónde están...?

la broma es demasiado viejo

la canción ha sido cantado otra vez

we are home, i feel

the seed in your fruit
my arms stretch through soil
i feel alive

folded in your fingers
folded in the wings
i feel safe

strange syllables, we are

built to fit a language

the tongues' fluid motion

we are 

spoken

soul cure.

in the living room,

on the embroidered couch

the light was dim;

the only sign of death

was in the air -- 

the stale fetor of yellow tail

my great-aunt blanca on the left;

on the right, my great-aunt la actriz,

professional queen of drama

proclaimer of poetry

"your hair is like mine was," she said,

"except mine was much longer -- down to here.

and red as rust.

"my eyes were green like yours, and my nose

pointed like yours; everything like yours.  and

although i have grown old, you remain what i was."

she recites one of her poems for me.

"ésta es dedicada a mi primer amor; 

dondequiera está."

her voice is like lightning

and her tongue rolls like thunder -- 

the meaning; the sound

sweet as rain

she takes my hand

she tells me they're like ice

but it's so enunciated, it sounds like

"your hands are like jello"

and it makes me laugh

my cousin plays the guitar

and sings; he throws his head back

white teeth like polished rocks

in his open mouth

he looks a little like mick jagger

and he used to be mick jagger

when he played for the rolling clones

everyone sings along

to the songs he has written

and the melody

strikes a chord

i sit out back

with my sister, carrie

we dangle our feet in the cold swimming pool

we admire the white lights strung across the trees

and the artwork

the visual poetry

scattered like polished rocks across the desert lawn

this was your last gift --

a soul cure

real love's precious medicine -- 

an "i am there"

and a "here are you."

algernon's bouquet

some instances

deserve no words

and some words

deserve no instance

can you not see

in front of you
behind you
and ahead?

i wish i could go back

to the times where i was

at my most beautiful

i wish

you could have seen me

at my most beautiful

or was it only

you didn't want me

at my most beautiful

most of the time

i think, i should stop thinking about it

but then i remember

in order to tell myself

to stop thinking

i must have thought it in the first place

i realize
without having to realize it

my only desire

was to keep you

at your most beautiful.

chanson

a silent stage; a dusty beam of light

you're sitting wide-eyed and afraid

i'm in the wings -- i see your tears

i come and join you from the dark

listen to our rosined hearts

beating together; beating apart

it's strange how things grow strong and fade again

you see through me like a plate of glass

you see my eyes

and how i see

see how i can't see through myself

quietly you hear the rain

slurping through an earthy drain

into the roots of our being

you rise and face the blackened room

the expectant audience in their womb

you see the outline of their faces

you see inside

you see yourself

you get up and you start to talk

"please listen to what i say

although it may all seem cliché

it's just a couple of suggestions

i've seen your ways

your ways like mine

it's hard to wander through the dark

just try to find your way around

and get up if you've fallen down

i know it's harder than it sounds like

you have to find
truth for yourself

you can't put your hands on others' backs

and you may never find a light

but without the search, all you've done in life

is sit confounded in a dark room

without a face

without a name

no one can see you properly

but if you live to see your dawning

before you think the chance is gone, you'll

see your face and what it looks like

and who you were

and who you'll be

you'll be fulfilled when you see yourself"

when you finish, look around and see

the people next to you and me

the auditorium's almost empty

a thousand lights

a thousand men

they look around and through skin