SO hai there. I've spent the day with a grand two hours of slumber under my belt. Now would be a good time to write because everything would come out all lazy-slow and curled together like a wind-blown cloud. I will tell you the reasons for my insomniatic escapades, it's that darned balloon fiesta. It has come 'round the good ol' state your truly recently moved to and I am determined to be as New Mexican as possible, which means I must waking up at four and tromping down in the freeze-your-buttocks-off cold to watch the hot air balloons fly up into the welcoming sk- Oop, no, they aren't going up today, too rainy. In my pursuit to become a New Mexican, I have also become an expert on answering the Chile question, which is a huge improvement on my earlier idiocy. When the poor man at the breakfast burrito counter asked me 'Red or green?' in a sad little monotone, I (obviously) sat back on my Los Angeles hip and snarkily said 'Red or green WHAT?'. He looked at me for a moment like I was dumb or somethin' as my native friend tugged my shirtsleeve and said, 'He means chilies.'. I grin my this-will-fix-everything smile and told him green. He charged my extra on my burrito and probably spat in it. Now we're even. I also hope to one day use the slang term for my city, smoke hookah and drive as badly as these dear people that I have grown to love. Wink wink. Anyway, where was I going with this? Right, I was giving the sad excuse as to why I have not updated in forEVER. I started a novel I find quite engrossing. It's love I think. I am not going to write much more due to that sweet page-turner. I plan to go balloon chasing tomorrow and I am going to stay up all night reading then swath myself in thick wools and fleeces at the crack of dawn and creep out the door to watch and bathe in the festivities of the Land Of Enchantment. Lord help me. So, to cut to the bleeding chase, as if I can even do that now, here's a poem to tide you over. Goodnight. Or morning. Whatever, it's doesn't matter.
Those of the metal hearts, I am; tonight.
welded in Assyria by Plato
without seams, so it seems, to you.
He used to say he was falling in love
with the little poet-girl, such a lie
to grace such previously unmarked lips
'Love he said, there in the Nota Bene
But, nevertheless, a metal heart
traded; given was the crumbly black one
shedding it's tired aorta into my stomach
Now I am the mighty child of Ababbar
bore of the breath of sweet, vain Nuit
her kiss to bring me life, her stars in my chest
Tonight, I am; metal-hearted--gilded.