poetry.html
prosepoemsaboutloveandconversations.odt
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words can feel lossless when you and i speak at the same time and that is what we do when we are excited to talk to each other. things get heated/serious in a good way. we can interrupt each other and it feels like we are saying the exact same words to each other at the exact same time. my brain can finally think of all my thoughts and my feelings and i must blurt them out to get them on the record before they vanish. and i know the day is going to be good. my vision is clear like the cloudless day and these floaters in my vision are gone. it is as if the sun is not casting its rays into my retinas, but you are shining and your rays are pure, making everything clear. until it is dark and we’ve been silent/talking for what seems like hours and i do not care which because i’ve been so busy observing how clear everything important is.
Two Girls Reading c. 1890-1891 Pierre-Auguste Renoir
poetry.html
poetry has gotten boring when the poet starts to write about the basic as if it were poetic. like about the grass and weeds growing tall in the spring and the conversation between them and the string trimmer. the hum oscillating and the panicked aroma of the grass gently floating around the neighborhood while the yard is being forcibly manicured <no> a poem is much more interesting when it follows the conversation of two women at the bar. the poet is eavesdropping and he sees that they are twenty years apart. he tries not to listen, but the candor of their laughter brings him back in. back into how, according to the elder, the price of the guacamole is not worth as a purchase. and the younger tells her, profoundly, that despite the horrors of capitalism, she persists. so must she, and so must we all. the poet may make a curious face, but it is interrupted by the laughter of the older as she mistakenly hears and responds: the whores? of capitalism? neither of them have any intention of digging that deep. they just share a loose, drunken shrug and a simultaneous laugh because to them, none of it is really that deep. but the poet, the boring overthinker that he is, must note that her words should persist. and how you should persist.
this was so lovely to read