(no subject)
The steam of summer is finally, really here. I can hear its' quiet hissing in riverbeds and streetlamp lit patios. Bars and drunks and cool quiet air. Hard sidewalk and a shuffling walk. Two steps at a time and a slide down a metal railing. Rippling reflections on water. All the words on my page and a drugstore light. Arm touching arm in the dim glow. Taxi cab passing with shifting shadows. Skirts and toes and bare legs. Take it all in carefully and with warmth. Taste it on your palate. Keep the days long and the nights ringing with echoes.
Yesterday Andrew told me that in the town where he's from, the air is actually sweeter: "I didn't notice it until I returned. I had read that phrase in books and poetry before - the air is sweet - but I didn't know what it really meant until I went home. When you inhale, it really is sweet."
The fight in the next room has finally cooled off, and now there's talk of the Law outside my window, and the State taking our blood, and I wonder which altar my own blood will fall on.
I've taken to writing poetry in other languages:
khoy hak lao dai baw? khitwaa khoy dai.
dee diewnii jaknoy lai. jaknoy keun pay.
knoy baw yaak thaa.
taa khoy baw kheun, khoy ja tok.
Yesterday Andrew told me that in the town where he's from, the air is actually sweeter: "I didn't notice it until I returned. I had read that phrase in books and poetry before - the air is sweet - but I didn't know what it really meant until I went home. When you inhale, it really is sweet."
The fight in the next room has finally cooled off, and now there's talk of the Law outside my window, and the State taking our blood, and I wonder which altar my own blood will fall on.
I've taken to writing poetry in other languages:
khoy hak lao dai baw? khitwaa khoy dai.
dee diewnii jaknoy lai. jaknoy keun pay.
knoy baw yaak thaa.
taa khoy baw kheun, khoy ja tok.