Letter Poems

2010-09-07T05:52:00.002-05:00

Dearest,

Letters do not show up right. I am slightly dying to write. Looks aren’t
everything. So, words. No one is to blame. I didn’t mention the poems.
They should still be soft by the time they reach you.

I spent the weekend raining. Hangovers kept me company. No answers. I
would like to leave the country with quality, beautiful in theory.

This wonky beautiful machine might be love. I am desperate for it to
operate smoothly. Red Valentine, as you know, you’re my favorite. But
I wish I had more profound puddles to kick with.

I’m almost out…

2010-08-30T17:54:00.003-05:00

letters are coming and going, a lot quicker than expected despite the royal mail... and a new poem is in the works as of tonight.

let's celebrate with an oldie, but a goodie:

Look at the absurdity and be happy with it.

Several months ago I was in Glasgow again. My two weeks: hilarious and pathetic and I guess well behaved. It was just a hand job and banter after ‘you’re pretty.’

2010-08-04T13:25:00.001-05:00

Dearest,

Saturday afternoon, I’m spending it
alone with coffee – quite a
special gathering. Your last
letter blew me a kiss.
Glasgow, Texas, Italy.
Afternoons, I’m reminded of
the urge to smoke. Jet set,
moving out, going home, leaving.
Forgotten, can’t think of poems.
No stories, out of paper.
Hungover for a year.
Grad school, jobs, living …
Fuck this.
My room. A drink.

x

2010-08-02T20:37:00.001-05:00

My virginity,

So I slept on, but he kept trying. He was an exception; bound to haunt me.
I had to focus, to go to bed and to get back to sleep.
This guy, he looked less sexy sitting next to me in bed.
Really terrible…and what went on between us physically-
I did snicker a bit. I laugh too much.
I got up for coffee (pot no. 2) and take responsibility for that.

So, yes again into the bedroom. Just really tired.

2010-08-01T17:02:00.000-05:00

At home again.
Rain, traditional –
like Texas. Like it should be.
Just a lot of nothing.
The rain seems light enough,
but I started
writing you a letter to protect me.
It’s been a few days.
Peppermint, grey compromise
and handwritten books. Before I leave,
slightly worse. It already is. I’d
rather know when I will see you again, if I will…

x

2010-07-30T06:16:00.000-05:00

Naughty indeed. But, indeed, we're back. Words:

Dearest,

I’ve been sleeping. I’ve been waking up.
A quiet afternoon sans the traditional stinging,
a foreplay I don’t mind at all.
When I breathe in and out, it’s almost
like the past on speed dial, making me ache.
It’s not like I forgot by falling asleep.
This letter, the red wine, the nonsense.
It’ll be good in Tejas.

Love.

we're back.

2010-07-30T06:01:00.001-05:00

we've been naughty about letters and about poems. we're going to get back to them. in honor of that- words:

To you,

Tonight I’m sober so that ruins living in the uk. The leaves turn brown and it rains for two weeks. There was bad language, sex and coffee- which it needed, because everyone else ordered Chinese food while I was gone.

As per usual, I had to tell you exactly nothing. Just something. Conversations like in the 50s…I guess I’ll end this now.

Good luck making Paris.

2008-10-10T11:58:00.004-05:00

Sister Garcia,

He was in love with landmark
virginity. Comical and awkward,
he should know what he's doing during sex.
Early Sunday morning,
he was in love with me -- that
kid you hate. Just know it wasn't me.

I lost it. That valentine is a curse.
Skinny white boy poet is hard to
swallow. He seems to be lying
so as to tell you about it.
But we went to bed with each other, and faced
opposite sides of the wall.

Red wine.

Coffee.

I don't understand why you left.

2008-10-04T20:01:00.000-05:00

I don’t care if it upset him.
Him sleeping with that girl after we left,
The end of an era and relatively uneventful.
The heebie jeebies and Joe.
So, I wonder why it’s actually different reading about it.
I already knew.
He asked me if you felt guilty for just kissing someone…asked nicely.
I didn’t expect anything different, the asshole.
Besides, you didn’t sleep with him.
You don’t just sleep with someone like that.- a “son of the west”
Stubborn Liz- start sleeping with men from Rome, a couple dozen books and food
And some coffee.
The good stuff, warm weather and prayers.

2008-09-25T19:37:00.001-05:00

Darling,

How beautiful this cup of coffee is,
made in New York. Back on the royal.
Crooked lines and traditional keeping
the faith this October. I'm watching
the year course through Scotland,
its alcohol and its boys.

To fill you in, potential moving city.
The perfect excuse for shame,
slapstick, lovely writing. I'll watch for
springtime. I've rambled long enough.

The idea of us living. Close. Together.
This city doesn't stand a chance.

2008-09-22T02:02:00.001-05:00

This is going to be a good one.

This letter.
Your flight.
My birthday.
A whole year.
Postcards.
Scotland.

If I don’t make it home this summer, don’t bother sending a card.
See a good French film, blow the whole $50, and say hello to the kids.

2008-09-22T01:32:00.003-05:00

My dearest,

I can already feel myself getting older. It’s not going to be filled with anything at all. Smokes in the box. It’s late and I’m still. I used the ole Royal, too afraid to try a poem. Two cent stamps and most of the cards are ugly but it’s modern art – what do you expect?

You are probably out or laying in Jimmy’s bed. That makes poetry sound like foreplay. You are probably getting more words. I’d rather be with you.

My point is that I am kind of dying. Currently waiting for the roads/highway. I am sitting next to two red suitcases, different shades of red. You can probably assume the rest. I’ll end this now. Being done with something is a nice feeling. The last from Texas. Last on the Royal. I hate them both.