Moonup, shades of sangria
hazed in mothwing
motes. We wrap in
flannel, tartan Seattle
accompanied by smudging sticks.
Batteries never charged-
You said no violets (you
mean it). Moondown takes
time- scores of swaying shadows
the parsecs. Inherit starlight,
bank it, never blink; wet stones
in the noise of stars.
It started with a sip
The kiss of a rim
How did it turn out like this?
I fiddled with the straw
I flirted at the bar
I took too many gulps
How did I end up like this?
My friends worried about me
My loneliness came and got me
I cried tequila tears
How did I know it'd be like this?
I just wanted one kiss
To taste a pair of lips
but the sangria betrayed me
How did Blake Shelton not say this?
Your lips taste like sangria is my jam
I sit here,
cat on my lap,
an evergreen forest in my lungs
and silver fish in my heart.
Your blue eyes are beneath these typewriter keys,
behind every sheet of paper.
“I will always find you,” you whispered as our stars ripped apart.
And you did,
on a May night warm with sangria and bonfire:
we made eye contact
and our souls crashed
into each other
like wave against wave,
starlight against starlight.
with a grin like chocolate suckle
that is smooth sangria down the throat
artichoke belt buckle
enjoy the comfortable finale
"forget i'm filthy, from the alley"
chicky? chicky! are you sleeping?
i have been for 16 years
dreaming loads of lovely fellows
strong enough to show me tears
i have wasted the best of charms i've ever tasted;
the stairs fall down beneath my heel
i greet your frowns
my toes on the line
i drink with a hunger
from a gallon of wine
encourage the blur
allow the feel
do they think that i am beautiful?
do they think that i am real?
What are the words
I mean to say?
This drink, it flows,
Inside my veins,
And life, it moves
And flows for me
Yet worldly pleasures
Drive the weak.
As I long
To tell you these,
All I can say
Are words that please.
I love you
I love you,
And listen on
To the stars that flow
Little bits of sourness that I have felt from dealing with boys ,..that I’ve let come, …in my life,…and just pass on through,
Like Tita from Agua Para Chocolate
Pouring her energy
Her heart in every dish she made
I poured and poured
10 bottles of red wine…Passionate red vibes
Into that Sangria containing my sweet fruit
And just a little bit,…little bite of lime
That little bit of sourness I hold inside
My energy flowing through every smile, word, and laughter that floated in the air
And bounced from vibe to vibe
And what did I get in return?
Not only the satisfaction of seeing and feeling everyone have such a great time
Giggles from buzzed and tipsy steps of folks passing me by
But the collection of singles, overflowing in the cute bartender’s tip jar
It was your singles
And his singles
And even her singles that filled up that jar
The collection of singles that fed the creative force of souls that night
Fed the souls
Fed the minds
Fed us with creativity
But most importantly
Fed us with awesome tacos at 2:30 in the morning from a place we happened to find right around the block
My Sangria bought us tip jar tacos that night
People wobbling in the heat haze like a real time hall of mirrors
Street performers sing & flamenco & mime
The snap of digital cameras & excited chatter outside the cathedral
Sangria cold & fruity as it slides down easily
The tram glides past the beggars & hawkers
Gypsies’ curses in coarse andalucian as rosemary favours are repelled
Excited Asians watching every move Large Americans loudly exclaiming their delight as the light fades into dusk
Now the Feria comes alive all lights & ferris wheels & music so much music
Men on horseback women ride sidesaddle all in traditional dress
A throwback to a time before bailouts & austerity
Sing & Dance & Eat & laugh & joke
As dusk becomes evening the ottoman turrets light up
The cooler night air seems to remove inhibitions as people from different worlds celebrate humanity with cheers & smiles
Muchos Gracias & Bueno & Buena Noches in various accents fill the night as the spell is broken
I fell asleep to the sound of your screaming,
the melancholic melodies of our sinister love.
I woke shrouded in silence,
the dark room shifted and squirmed around me.
My hands groped the sheets for you
but were left wanting.
The sun comes up
and I’m still waiting.
The room now a temple of hate,
an auditorium of ludicrous lamentations
too late for recess from the pain
too tangled in the web of cancerous thoughts
too late for us
So I'm drinking the red wine
I had those cut-up peaches
Soaking, fermenting in for 3 days.
A nice summer evening buzz,
Just back from my evening walk
Within the gates of my over-55
On my rear porch in Hemetucky,
I chaise lounge the hours,
Listening to the mourning dove
Nesting in the bottlebrush bush.
I know she's there, having
Fired thru my duck blind,
My latest weapon of choice,
My new-fangled Flex Hose,
It expands when turned on.
Which got me thinking that the
Flex Hose inventor guy must have
Whacked off a lot as a teenager.
An Alex Portnoy protege, perhaps,
If familiar with Roth's book.
Most of us read it;
Some of us lived it.
It is pointless to speculate.
12 ft. Flexible Water Hose with
Nozzle-flxh-25 (4-00268...Home Depot
Hose-with.../204818892/The Home Depot
Rating: 1.8 - 14 reviews - $19.97 - In stock
"The Flexible hose automatically expands with water flow and contracts back to its original shape for storage. Lightweight and durable. The Flexible Hose will ..."
(That's right, a commercial right in the
Middle of the fucking poem.
This Poet refusing to die in the gutter,
Having finally figured out how to
MAKE POETRY PAY.)
But I digress.