The Grass is Black/The Air is Pink

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feel me/read me/follow me

( I saw you last night…) Rumi

I saw you last night in the gathering,
but could not take you openly in my
arms,

so I put lips next to your cheek,
pretending to talk privately.

Filed under: desire,desire,desire..., life, poetry, regarding myself, that crazy,little thing called love, Uncategorized,

Monday

Monday.

The day that I’d
like to die; the
first day of the week
where I rest my
eyes on my sadness
and they fall hard
into an abyss…
leaving me blind.

Monday.

Not a real day. Or maybe,
it’s the jour rose; there
is a place where people
fall in love only on
Mondays. Don’t ask me
which bus to take,
because there, I’ve never
been…

Monday.

I see you, Angelou.
Older now, I understand
you. Giovanni, you’re like
a whip in your poetry.
Brooks, may your soul rest
in peace, and I’ll fall for
your contemplation and
wit. Je pense, donc je suis

Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday.
Friday.
Saturday.
Sunday.

And then?

(written: November 14, 2010)

Filed under: la vie poesie, life, regarding myself, Uncategorized, , , , , , ,

Five Questions on A Saturday (10)

Q: Do you understand the workings of a woman’s mind?
A: Of course, I have a woman’s mind.

Q: Can fear sometimes be exciting?
A: Fear is ALWAYS exciting…

Q: Are you protected?
A: From what?

Q: Do you know how fights are staged in films?
A: Yeah, I have an idea.

Q: What was grief like before television?
A: Normal? Honestly, I don’t know what grief is…

Filed under: Uncategorized