pinot noir & paramours pt.1

"Aphasia is a condition characterized by either partial or total loss of the ability to communicate verbally or using written words. A person with aphasia may have difficulty speaking, reading, writing, or understanding what others have said..."

if this condition were not further described as having been brought about specifically by a stroke or traumatic brain injury, i would have no problem self-diagnosing. the past two weeks have been such a roller coaster of emotions for me, that i have given up trying to intentionally process what's going on, because it just leads to self-deprecating thoughts (e.g. the common denominator in my failed relationships -platonic or otherwise- is me) or credit cards being maxed out at my local liquor store (hasn't happened yet, but the week is still young). i have no words of my own today, so i planned to present a cento poem. a cento, from the Latin word meaning "patchwork", is a poem that is constructed entirely out of the words from poems of other poets. but i didn't have the energy to do that, either, so here instead are excerpts from very unrelated poems that nearly describe some of my thoughts. with that said, if you see me in the streets, please offer spontaneous hugs. or a plane ticket... i will accept either at this point. the cento will be up in a few days if/when i get my coherency/heart/sobriety back...
alas, alack.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.  

-- from "Bluebird" Bukowski

And if you come I will be silent
Nor speak harsh words to you.
I will not ask you why, now.
Or how, or what you do.
We shall sit here, softly
Beneath two different years
And the rich earth between us
Shall drink our tears.
--from "If you come softly" Audre Lorde


i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again 
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new 

-- ee cummings

My Secret
My soul its secret has, my life too has its mystery,
And she who was the cause nor knew it nor believed.
Alas! I shall have passed close by her unperceived,
Forever at her side, and yet forever lonely,
I shall unto the end have made life's journey, only
Daring to ask for naught, and having naught received.
These murmurings of love that round her steps ascend,
Piously faithful still unto her austere duty,
Will say, when she shall read these lines full of her beauty,
"Who can this woman be?" and will not comprehend.

-- from "A Secret" by Félix Arvers