yesterday
was a different kind of conversation
with petals flying and thunder booming
in the end, a soft a rain fell
against the night
*
this morning
songbirds are warbling
the ancient trees are still and plaintive
a jay screeches a call to action
as the sky stretches
*
tomorrow
is not here yet
my country my culture is like an alcoholic parent on a bender taking taking taking drinking the last drop and destroying and we, like the little orphans we are like hungry birds chirping squawking pecking clawing for attention for resources for space to be heard to be seen to be loved no space no recess…
last night, (while mortals were sleeping) Mars chatted with Venus for hours laughing and peering into unseen places whatever war Mars was waging was forgotten in the sweet comfort of silent moments (between words and worlds) luxury in the tension of opposites (a deep exhale)
reading her my poetry about a man with a swagger ‘neath red flame chandeliers (and comparing notes) circular narratives about life and gypsies and making sense of men (and ourselves) a text to her lover in a moment of mischief fueled with red wine (and some flirting) “I think she’s trying to get me drunk,”…
