The Queen of It Ain't Nothin' Atoll
There's something to be said for darkness,
Makes you unappreciated city lights.
Whatever's out there could be bougainvillea,
Or maybe not. Honeysuckle smells
Like anything else, but I think that may be
A tree. A column. A dead stiff streetlamp.
The sound of waves may indicate
An ocean or a relaxation tape, but
You should just let go this need to know
What things are. Just let them be. I tell you,
Once you drop off the vine, you'll bloom,
Not fall behind. Blind and lovely,
I'll call you: prophet, person, object,
Whatsit sitting pretty in the middle of the pack.
I've been reading my haul of literary journals from the Housing Works sale, and I've realized I'm weirdly peeved by introductory quotes in poems. Like, no poem for you until you've read this Pablo Neruda quote, reader! Bah.
Anyway, I'd like to say that I've been pretty diligent while down here, but no dice. I've been playing video games, watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force on Mark's TiVo, and making mango lassi, which I then sip in an almost robotic fashion. I'll blame it on the humidity; nothing like good old southern air, dripping so wet it seems pestilential, excusing you from all activity, physical or mental, lest you develop something like malaria. I should get cracking, send out some submissions or something. But I'd kinda rather lie on the carpet and count stains on the ceiling. At least for now.