Hundred and Sixty Seven 9.21.16
Diane Di Prima
Song for Baby-O, Unborn
when you break thru
a poet here
not quite what one would choose.
I won’t promise
you’ll never go hungry
or that you won’t be sad
on this gutted
but I can show you
enough to love
to break your heart
And The Rant:
oH Haii — I have added a lot of new folks here to our lil fam – a lot of folks I have never met before – that’s kind of crazy, but hey thank you for being here on this weird ride! Also, a lot of friends who I have met and know are just joining, welcome to more P$ rants, loves!
Wow – I read this poem and goosebumps all around or as we say in the old country– It made my skin go biz biz — What a way to pack a punch, Diane, jesus! What a strange 48 hours for me.. there has been major changes in inner life, yet here I am eating a late lunch, taking a break and sending you this.. life goes on, you know. And what a poem for that – poets are weird, like you want to have a poet friend or maybe a second degree remote uncle, or a great grandpa, but maybe not a poet dad or child or a long term love partner… It’s always that… “so what do you do for money?” … Everyone is trying to feed their stomach and buy dem nice shoes, or know how I make money.. no ones is going around saying let’s break hearts so they never close again.. let us see flowers among garbage…. let us race to the lake so maybe we can kiss her face before the rain drop.. what a life… Suzanne, where are you my love? No one is making me tea these days.. no one is teaching our children that light posts see, streets know, no one is teaching our little ones that you can talk to grass, and maybe moon is a big balloon carrying boxes of love… poets are awake.. And here she is Diane.. talking to her unborn… Oh sweet child if you ever come to my life… hopefully you’ll find a poet, still.
A new hobby update: I am making a list, a list of people who I don’t trust. No, It does not have names in it – that would be mean. As loud and crazy I may be I don’t like meanness.. I may heckle you, I may threaten to bite your ear, but I won’t be mean to you! The list is more like things people do.. like I don’t trust the dead people (because I think they are done with out human existence bullshit – so why would they care), people who don’t read fiction (like really?), people who drink but don’t drink whiskey (it just doesn’t feel right to me), and a few more things… I am considering if I like the pack of dudes who go out in a pack wearing the same style of button down shirt which looks like the table cloths from my GrandMa’s house… I don’t know, I am still considering to add those dudes to the list.. I mean I don’t want to not trust them just because of their terrible sense of fashion and loudness.
Anyway, how are you? It’s been so long that I have given time to my fingers to make love to my keyboard so that they give birth to a mental baby for you.. Maybe so much has been going on and I can’t get my head into love making process.. I am good, room is big enough to make love, sky is open and accepting, people I meet are nice to me, people I know are nice to me..poets are awake, man. If you don’t know what I mean that’s ok – what would nights be for, if it did not have drunk poets writing love letters! I love you and will always do my Suzanne, this orange for you, this tea is for you, this flowers among these garbage. Do love a poet. Do not love a poet…