(no subject)
So, I'm not doing a real post today. Here's a poem I've been working on instead. Yes, poetry follows. You've been warned.
I've been working on a love poem for a while now. I don't have any particular reason except that I'm really bad at them and would like to get better. It would be a lie, though, to say that I didn't think of Dear Reader once or twice while composing this. My starting point here was a Mike Doughty line. It serves as the title now, but there's probably a better one out there.
"I hear your name called out from passing cars"
Bubbling out of a drain,
brushing through the fronds of
a tiny foxtail fern.
My cat's long meow,
spark from a carpet,
and tea ball's plop-bop.
I hear your name from tiny places.
It sends a warm rush of comfort and
eases my mind to quiet spaces,
and the infatuations
that make a love worth having
and make a lust so maddening
jump out from the backdrop
of things that fall apart
and come back together.
In the changing world I
grasp for some constancy,
your name and tiny things.
for 25 long minutes
I've been working on a love poem for a while now. I don't have any particular reason except that I'm really bad at them and would like to get better. It would be a lie, though, to say that I didn't think of Dear Reader once or twice while composing this. My starting point here was a Mike Doughty line. It serves as the title now, but there's probably a better one out there.
"I hear your name called out from passing cars"
Bubbling out of a drain,
brushing through the fronds of
a tiny foxtail fern.
My cat's long meow,
spark from a carpet,
and tea ball's plop-bop.
I hear your name from tiny places.
It sends a warm rush of comfort and
eases my mind to quiet spaces,
and the infatuations
that make a love worth having
and make a lust so maddening
jump out from the backdrop
of things that fall apart
and come back together.
In the changing world I
grasp for some constancy,
your name and tiny things.
for 25 long minutes