Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Chocolate Milk

Rich, thick
life and creamy
blown glass
touched to taste
cold metal
I'll hold you
on my tongue
a moment,
They say you have breadth
from blood
and they Say
hungry birds
would starve
in space


But the touch of your skin
on my lips is enough
we'll send them out

Frederico Garcia Lorca

Sometimes I wonder if the true ideas behind our sentences can really be expressed in words. We humans have these sentiments, and we try to express them through language. But the words in our hearts are discordant with the words we speak, if not to ourselves then to everybody else, because each word is loaded with different colors of emotion for each person based on individual experiences and understandings of each word.
From this perspective of language, we are all separated by impenetrable boundaries. Yet most of us react to something which is a product of another human being, be it art, poetry or music. And in that moment maybe we do feel the same moment of complete silence and utter bliss, joy, ecstasy.

I don't know if others have felt the same way. That moment when nothingness enters your being. But that nothing is all, and you feel so complete just to witness this moment of truth.

I was going to write about Frederico Garcia Lorca for you, my friend, so far away in Harvard. I will leave you to explore his poetry. The collection "In Search of Duende" is a favorite of mine. It is the duende which I seek to find or to rekindle in the people around me, because it seems as if we have collectively lost our urge to experience life.

Thursday, January 22, 2009


Yesterday I wrote to you,
a letter filled with ys and dots.
Yesterday I searched for you
I ran across the desert concrete
searching for a sign of you, kept track
with bloody footprints (breadcrumbs).
Yesterday I ran and cried, this body's liquid
rose into the wind and Zeus, I hope it smacked
your windshield driving down the 101 in your fuel
efficient lotus with the windows up and AC blasting
your frozen botoxed face and lips. Your pencil is in
our ugly house, lying broken on the floor next to
a glass full of orange juice.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Magnets and Pea Pods

This is the flowing brook, I told you
where I played so long. And I've
danced here and I've played here
alone beneath these branches.
Last week I followed
the life-scented water to a river,
for hours I walked and stepped
into the ocean for the first time,
saw your face. And I knew
you saw me too
because I caught you glancing
at my face to see if
I had noticed you. But I didn't smile,
I only turned, and splashed
back into the ocean's arms. The sky
grew dark, and when I left, I felt
as though I'd left
something behind.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

oneword: Grapes

Pop! Your toes are like grapes,
my sweet, dear friend.
They are round and full
like bursting grapes, but
your toes will not burst.

And you smell so good, like
the scent of happiness and
youthful joy.
I like you.
I love you.
My sweet, grape-toed friend.