If I should buy jellybeans, I'd have to eat them all in just one sitting.
Summer? There are no words; however, I shall be benevolent (generous, kind, munificent, bighearted... of course, the list goes on and on. HA.) and leave you with scraps of songs the nearly inebriated Binky wrote in Barcelona not too long ago. My muse? Left in the South - both physically and emotionally. Of course, it will be forever etched in my mind.
from Orka
I’ve gotten to a point.
The clutter blankets the box I live in,
And I am now lost in the congestion.
I disguised a leap, not even
of kangaroo-capacity,
as several baby steps.
from Telegrams & Lujuria
I'm trapped in a galaxy
of telly series in monochrome,
tripping over big black records
and coffee machines.
I want a telegram -
proof of existence, please.
Let's dig for dinosaur bones
to pacify my mind.
If I spoke Spanish, here's what I'd cry:
Añoro esa lujuria, lujuria por la vida, señorito.
What if nuns were penguins,
Created big blue lightning bolts?
Let’s make potions,
And play in your laboratory.
I’m looking for something that doesn’t exist;
imagined a story that wasn’t mine to write.
I am not the author,
but the character.
Phantoms tremble at my doors.
They will never leave me be.
I cannot be scared.
Startle me with what might you may have,
but in my state, unfeasible it would be.
We’re the seagulls on the ceramic plate of this camera obscura.
I lie, leaving the world deceived. Fainting polka dots and flamenco days that don’t exist make up my memories.
from Larger Ladders
These walls are painted the absence of colour,
and these changes are no longer followed by
late night chats with vodka on wooden stools.
Yesterday, I listened to the stones -
left the lyrics ignored.
Today, I understand the libretto
to only have it leave me stranded.
I deserted the Southern sun, sherry,
and the story that could've been
for a world of everything.
We are everything but nothing.
I left for a city of people.
We are in bowls of wishes and aspiration.
Maybe I'm mixing myself up a
taste of nostalgia and wistfulness.
Let's start a new game of scrabble.
Spell me right.
Come have a bottle of wine
by the skyscraper and the lights.
Oh, silly us.