And sometimes
      rain and body
match their sounds.

Tonight...started great...and then...my body, this meat and bone case for being...decided to declare open war on me in the most annoying way possible.
At least I get to wake up in five hours and see a great concert with my lover.

culture keeper: Peter Beard

culture keeper: Peter Beard: Peter Beard may be the most adventurous man in the world. Perhaps he is also the most stylish. His photography and collage work are phenom...

The True Subject

This poem
is brief.
Though not so brief
as to avoid
mentioning
the true subject.
I'm sure
Hafez is happy
in his rose garden.

"And when I washed my hands,
I ran the water
hotter than I could stand."
"Marduk T-Shirt Men's Room Incident"-The Mountain Goats.

This song is amazingly depressing, and rips me apart every time I hear it...
so I usually listen to it once a week.

I'm having trouble ripping a new poem out of my brain/heart/soul collective right now.
And...that's all.

Rambles and a poem

 I am writing about an entirely different piece than the one pictured above.
This reminds me of those works from Pompeii and Alexandria...the really awesome portraits and such--makes sense, because Campigli (Massimo, by the way, is a wonderful name--I think the feminine "Massima" is even better--consider breeding and naming a child thus, report back to me in twenty years on how awesome they are) had a certain fascination with antique art--at least, according to wot sources I've read. I think I'm going to clean for a bit and straighten things around my writing desk somewhat--clear it all away so that I can write poetry and maybe (maybe) even paint a bit...but...mostly write poetry. I need to get back to doing that, and maybe I'll have something finished by Monday, when...I need to actually have something finished. Sigh. For the moment, though...to work.
My lover is working on a fascinating paper on Dali next to me.
And just said "What, what, what, what...gross, gross, gross, gross."
Why? Because she is amazing.
I saw Jim the Bead Man today and picked up a fantastic Turkish piece to hang from my desk...one of the evil eye emblems, tied onto a really nicely worked piece of brown twine (if you want to win yourself into my good graces...twine is the way to do it...what can I say? I'm easily amused--especially knotted twine with things attached...but...well, we all have our fascinations.).  Anyway....there's that. I also had some lovely and not prostatitis-aggravating tea from Great Horse Teas (apple-blueberry green tea).
We just team-wrote a marvelous little poem based on the absurdity of the fashion world.
I'll post one of them here, for your enjoyment:

--
This one is called
Just because we are both hot.
The light box illuminates the taffeta
organic wires, like trees, around me,
blue and red, black and floating.
A forest of electronic cables, a kelp bed.
Which would bind, but are confined
beyond plexiglass walls. Illuminated barrier
between myself and the exterior.
I turn and turn again, within these four walls,
illuminated light box.
The cameras watch from above,
pink hair, necktie, angular forms
bent beneath their gaze.
Illuminated light box.

In search of the perfect crescent wrench.

Looking for the perfect hammer,
and a few good screws,
I wander down the street.
In place of tools, I find
"Temple of God" painted
on a white plank.
They've replaced my shiny metal
with their religion.
Don't sweat it, I say,
there are still plenty
of mom-and-pop hardware stores
on other continents.

Reading Loren Eiseley
to find answers about Dickens.
A garbage truck rolls by,
the dog cowers behind me.

Returning:
That urge to shave my head
and paint my face blue,
and shout,
shout in welcome to the Vikings.

Fiat Lux.
Let there be lightness.
Let there be air.
Let there be water.
Let being be.