gigondas

Edit: I posted this yesterday to get it rumbling around in my brain. It's from a year ago. This was such an amazing morning for me and I wanted to revisit this version of it to see if I could flesh it out and to see if my writing has changed or grown.

Here it is.

NE to SW: 06/01/2007
Category: Travel and Places

Going...
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There is a girl that I find perfect. Her name is and perfect ain't right. Really.

Newest version:

Luna

Sometimes she misses dancing,
the spotlight and the performance and the power.

She still uses certain moves
you know she perfected on stage.

You know she knows.
You can see it in the slightly wicked smile she smiles sometimes.

I've watched so many men fall into her. It's funny and bittersweet
and keeps this distance between us
that keeps our love safe....
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I remember seeing the planes flying after midnight on January 1, 2000 and being ecstatic

Do you remember:

lovers shared,
hot tubs and old men,
bourbon, vodka, gin?

And then,

then,

an ending...

things drifted into discontent as
sour kisses replaced honeyed lips.
Now, I'm left to wonder why I ever loved you.

-6am,
cold and foggy and comfortable because
we had each other's arms....
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It's funny how this makes me think of laying on the ground in the rain, reading surrealistic Japanese short fiction to a beautiful girl with the same name. Same first name.




Chelsea, Chelsea, ever think of me when it rains?

I sit at work for a few hours
after hours and drink
red wine and white sometimes

there's strangers and coworkers
there's conversation that often drift to sex
Charlotte
growing up
music
the biz, the boss

and love, we talk about love a lot

and it's free

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A work in progress.



After, all the lovers I've burned through


I just rubbed the back
of the Bukowski book I lent you
I smiled
and then someone sang
"hallelujah, for long shot dreams"

it was fuckin' perfect...

Before I left Portland
someone asked me about you
well
about us and
it struck me as an odd question

what us? ya know
I was just...
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Reposted from elsewheres.



Re:...I don't want to be right


I can hear the worry in your voice
ya know
the story concluded
how
I've been preparing myself
for it concluding
I've been readying my defenses and
attempting to drain myself
of my madness
but
you tell me your story and by the end
I am filled with my madness

in a way that only you...
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A new version of something, moving it from prose to poetry. Still needs a bit of work.

cardboarded memory

She's gone
and her placard is leaning against the wall.
A simple cardboard sign,
it reads "CHARLOTTE"
in big black letters decorated with red,paisleyed veins.

It's a one-of-a-kind signed-type-edition of a road sign.
The whole weekend was about only the finest
after all.

Well that
and...
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Recommend me some happy barroom music. Any ever heard the Compulsive Gamblers?

Gorgeous with 100% pure Eighties goofiness and the two cannot be separated.


Paris or London?