During the lunch break for the Chancellors’ Talks today, I stopped by my apartment, dropped stuff off, and ran to the bank. It’s astonishing how sometimes you can just be in an inspired mood at one moment, and you have to take hold of those moments immediately. So, the day was just full of good weather, good vibes, and lots of random images in the five-minute walk each way, and I had to jot down as much as I could before the next talk began. This is a very rough draft of that. I really like some of these images (especially that spinach pie, and that Impala; was so proud to pick out “butternut” as the proper color); now I need to work on the frame.
In other news, I’m still keeping up with the submissions challenge. Fifteen down? Sixteen? I don’t even know at this point, but I’m running out of poems to send…
The city writes its Saturday rules of attraction in
neighborhoods where even the names crave a lover’s
Today is full of sex magic: October blessing us with
fat coins of light, heavy with unexpected heat;
an ancient greaser blaring “I Put a Spell on You”
from the windows of his butternut ’61 Impala;
this jogger’s bare shoulder blades peeking from his shirt,
breathed brass and perfect and peppered with
small black moles.
Everyone scuffs the rubbish in the gutters and
breathes marijuana smoke from the first-floor apartments.
Pedestrians weave through traffic with their eyes and
their arms open wide to the world’s passing.
And I let an aphrodisiac street-fair spinach pie slowly
spread its book open on my tongue, undoing itself
leaf by leaf.
These are the things which keep our bodies moving
within this body that is the city; this is what syncopates
our tumbling hearts.