alethos anesti
Aug. 24th, 2008 03:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starfrosting1) Late August back home in PA makes me understand the dying god, burgeoning sun within the Earth, the grass getting dry where maple and oak leaves can't outstretch their shade. Everything is lush, the clouds thick and bramble buzzing with bees, butterflies, a red-tailed hawk keeeeing off over the hills somewhere. Everything is rolling, tumbling, sticky with sex.
So, a poem I wrote back in
Clover covers the ground so thick that
all around the air is nectar,
clotted honey
bees buzz like knotted live wires
rotten wood, electric fence
who would think the sun is already
barreling us to fall,
snapping like heat lightning into frost?
So I keep my fingers crossed
while stepping
barefoot over thorns
and hinge my hopes on the shadow-seat
of the day
casted with plaster and
clogged up with clay
Night always comes,
hides the germinating ground's green
so why try to stay so clean
with all this constant messy creation that
settles in between the claps of thunder
and the constant hum of sun?
Like the day, get born,
fall down, get bruised
+ come up again sifted with dirt and breathing dew
And sure it hurts
but summer is a time of sacrifice
the intoxicating roses rotting into sweet decay
2) I smell like dry woodsy vetiver and skin-salt, oceanic dry grass and geranium. I love it.
3) Rory's sister got married (my first gay wedding-- I felt so much less cynical than I'd expected!) and seeing Rory was great. We took a eucalpytus-y sauna together and talked late about Gods and spirits, woke up and had coffee and weird pillsbury orange rolls before the caterers arrived for brunch, went swimming. She smokes Marlboro Smooths now and claims they taste like Thin Mints. I got a bunch of her old t-shirts that don't fit her now and I especially love the pale yellow one with big painty flowers and the Barbara Kruger "you construct intricate rituals..." one which is hard-won (I only got it cos it's so small.)
So, a poem I wrote back in
Clover covers the ground so thick that
all around the air is nectar,
clotted honey
bees buzz like knotted live wires
rotten wood, electric fence
who would think the sun is already
barreling us to fall,
snapping like heat lightning into frost?
So I keep my fingers crossed
while stepping
barefoot over thorns
and hinge my hopes on the shadow-seat
of the day
casted with plaster and
clogged up with clay
Night always comes,
hides the germinating ground's green
so why try to stay so clean
with all this constant messy creation that
settles in between the claps of thunder
and the constant hum of sun?
Like the day, get born,
fall down, get bruised
+ come up again sifted with dirt and breathing dew
And sure it hurts
but summer is a time of sacrifice
the intoxicating roses rotting into sweet decay
2) I smell like dry woodsy vetiver and skin-salt, oceanic dry grass and geranium. I love it.
3) Rory's sister got married (my first gay wedding-- I felt so much less cynical than I'd expected!) and seeing Rory was great. We took a eucalpytus-y sauna together and talked late about Gods and spirits, woke up and had coffee and weird pillsbury orange rolls before the caterers arrived for brunch, went swimming. She smokes Marlboro Smooths now and claims they taste like Thin Mints. I got a bunch of her old t-shirts that don't fit her now and I especially love the pale yellow one with big painty flowers and the Barbara Kruger "you construct intricate rituals..." one which is hard-won (I only got it cos it's so small.)
