"giulietta" poems
first woke up 8:23
went back to bed
(oh so hungover)
woke again 9:30, rubbed my eyes then
drank 2 ½ glasses water/puked. felt slightly better
but not perfect so
sat down on the couch in the dark
blinds closed
and read a book
(desolation angels - kerouac)
until my headache [sorta] cleared.
drank ¾ cup orange juice to take w/medication, antibiotics
(just got my wisdom teeth pulled)
and one tab oxycodone.
stopped reading (couldn't say why ... )
then sat lotus on the table by the window
writing/picked up jon's banjo n thought up
a neat (simple) roll, played classical guitar too
---watching girls.
did that til i got bored, or the girls stopped
walkin' by (1 of the 2)
so i washed dishes for the fellas
grabbed a longboard from by the door
rode over to the LCBO for some beers,
passed the ShortStop on the way back and got an Arizona
to have w/my Romeo y Giulietta on the tour home.
when i got back jon was up
(wearing a blanket)
making scrambled eggs --- heavy on the onions,
using all the dishes i just washed..
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 5:25 PM UTC
I call you Giulietta, amore dolorosa,
I plead guilty of wringing and clawing my own heart
and I love you, I love you, I love you, dulcet!
with my red paint like some Muscovy ivory ****** of an expatriate
but you, you're the *****
I plead guilty to gross desertion
in the face of your tears in the hollow of the night
--oh, I love you, I love you, I love you, I can't not--
toss my hair, fix my earrings, gold against sable,
but it looks too much like the gold of your hair
and I crumble like the sandswept stone
of Ozymandias, of the relics of some ancient love
some ancient had for the contours of the Sphinx
and I just think up more sweet nothings for you,
because every word is a nothing compared to you,
and how I love and love and love you,
but you, you're a *****
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 12:35 AM UTC
Into our fun house of mirror neurons,
a favorite Fellini character strides
distorted perhaps,
but reflected clearly enough,
none the lesser for our wear.
Who is it? Which one?
It’s truly hard to decide.
It could be that brute Zampanò,
his chain unpopped,
and as ever demanding our attention...
Or the cypher, Steiner,
teetering on edge
to tell us his secrets...
Or a voluptuous
la Saraghina,
reveling in our riveted eyes...
Or gentle Giulietta,
chasing her voices,
their whispers that echo ours.
It doesn’t matter who, in the end.
Better yet, let’s take them all,
and crowd them close in.
What matters is,
we ask they try
a seeming simple task—
touching tongue to nose,
or elbow to chin—
and we watch
their attempts, together.
Strive and fail.
Strive and fail.
Strive and fail.
These are the Sisyphean rhythms
we’ll need to learn.
We have our limits,
but empathy is endless.
Aug 18, 2010
Aug 18, 2010 at 4:18 PM UTC
like tourists’ hands rubbing Giulietta of Verona; my mind is worn to a thin gold sheen.
i just want to love you
in my own language.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 11:03 AM UTC
Chi questo nuovo pianto in cuor mi pone?
Verso Occidente, o dolce madre Aurora,
da te lontano la mia vita è corsa.
Il cielo s'alza e tutto trascolora;
passano stelle e stelle in lenta corsa;
emerge dall'azzurro la grand'Orsa,
e sta nell'arme fulgido Orione.
Come più lieta la tua vista, quando
un poco accenni delle rosee dita;
e la greggia s'avvia scampanellando,
esce il bifolco e rauco i bovi incìta,
canta lassù la lodola - apparita
ecco Giulietta, e piange, al suo balcone! -.
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