Tuesday, July 14, 2009

A Not Very Full Of Birthday Post.


I've received several gifts today.
From everywhere, and nowhere, and the sky.


A midnight happy birthday, as the night slid through my open window.

This song. And this.

And this,

O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et, O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!

Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc'd.
Tereu

Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.

T.S.Eliot,
The Wasteland; III The Fire Sermon

(And the earnest man who stood at the front of the room, and said "I'm not going to try and explain it. People...they dedicate their lives to this.")

Rain that fell lightly, caressing my face, with the lightest of touches. Misting against my eyelashes. Then heavier. Drenching, burrowing through my clothes to lie against my skin. The most affectionate and attentive of rainfalls.

2 comments:

  1. if i was a rain drop i would run down your cheek and jump a little, to nestle in the hollow of your throat.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I'll catch you in an antique vial, and wear you around my neck.

    ReplyDelete