(love poem)
六一七七三五
There is one things on my to do list that I find impossibly hard to do.
The day is slowly running out.
I am waiting, active or not, time is passing
A shiver comes every once in a while, from cold and nervousness
but Stan Getz plays on,
vivo sonhando, sonhando
mil horas sem fim,
tempo em que vou preguntando
se gostas de mim.
he doesn’t notice the butterflies.
P
37:4
teach me to delight,
instead
of notes of love of-often,
instead just notes tossed into the sea
north, not still or atlantic
not the yangtze-
or red, or indian, or baltic
misaim, or misfire, or miss
or hallucinate-
toss with practiced carelessness
like old ladies throwing sugar cubes
into their early morning earl grey tea.
lovely providence, i’m excited to go back to RISD!
it’s a lazy, beautiful kind of day.
