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A L Davies Jun 2011
i recall seeing you in september, you were drinking a coffee and your lengthy unkempt hair spilt down over what was probably an old sweater of your mother's. i thought maybe aphrodite had come down from olympus for a cup of hot water & cream & ground columbian beans. you were kind of lost in something on your phone, (kept looking at it there on the table) shifting your legs. there was a grocery bag beside you---not very full. maybe there were just a few things you’d needed? some orange juice and semolina pasta. but i was most impressed by a little mesh bag holding a dozen babybels, small and red like sliced apples thru the plastic. (christ, those are good.) after you left i went and bought a few, back home just sorta held them in my open palm eating them at leisure, committing your face
to memory.
this girl i know asked me (as a challenge) from across the couch to write spontaneously about babybels.. i'd seen another really gorgeous girl whilst havin' coffee that morning so i just stuck both together & trimmed 'til this sat on the page amidst a buncha scribbled out lines.
A L Davies Jun 2011
soft sound of shoes on new pavement
hot & clinging.
sentences strung together/hinging on subjects of a wide variety,
petroglyphs, ivory, & māori history.

touching lamposts with the wicked curiosity
of an only child.
cutting the hair of strangers in an alleyway off of downtown,
burning the strands in a bowl w/some potpourri
interpreting the smoke.
******.
A L Davies May 2011
after many months of sleeping
i awake in the mountains of navarra:
dusty & feeling like a grain sack:
limp & weary of travel.

sometimes a girl comes & gives me a little water
--as much as her family can spare.
i thank her each time but note the distrust in her eyes.
perhaps it is the length of my hair,
or the folksongs i sing in my sleep.
her father sits in a corner, smoking, cursing me in spanish.
(things like "**** americano")
i contemplate telling him i came from canada
--but i don't think it would matter much.
they've already burned my clothes,
or sold them, maybe. (novelty items.)
i think the girl brought me a robe of some kind
while i was sleeping (it's loose & very comfortable)
i wanna go to spain/rucksack along thru the hills,mountains,verges de civilization.
A L Davies May 2011
back home there is a garden ,
it is small & unimpressive & sits in front of my house.
i grow simple things
and send all the tenderness i can to their roots
(with a thumb that is steadily turning green)

sometimes insects come & gather round me
like a strange ritual, worship circles of ants & beetles
--antennae waving.
chanting in silent language.

there are some roses growing on the verge,
which lend rich reds & whites
to the arrangement of my plantings.
each morning as the dew rises fresh & hot
i pick the aphids from each flower
and they bloom in peace.
garden love
A L Davies May 2011
montréal, je t’aime.*
—but sometimes, you can be so loud,
so noisy,
that i wish i could cut you into eighths;
devour you, piece-by-piece,
eat away the hustle and bustle until
silence is all that beckons to me from the dark.
you shouldn't keep me up so late montréal.
A L Davies May 2011
yeah yeah yeah
ya yah
yea!
yeye yeahh
mhmm---
yes. (of course)
*oui.
playin' w/positives (& word arrangement)
A L Davies May 2011
might move to SoCal for a bit.
live in a place near the ocean, with big windows.
swim a lot and sling on the beach or from home if there’s demand.
wear loose clothes all day and maybe write that book.
*(see you!!)
california dreamin'
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