Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Henniway you look at it, if I cry now, I'll feel better. Some days a chick has to put her head on her breast and let the water flow.
I think there are more beggars in Rome this year
Not more gypsies holding emptied-bellied toddlers
Not more senzatetti
but more straight-ups begging for their lives
A dream's length from the Pantheon
B flats and F sharps dissipate into the breath
of the beg-less
An accordion player presses her back against the wall
Her eyes closed to the day, she wants just
one cup of coffee
Her sweater shivers in a breeze of tourists
Her money cup opens wide in Via Minerva
In the Pantheon, Raphael dreams in accordion notes
January cries all night like a mother whose baby
dies without warning
I think there are more beggars in Rome this year
Del Fabro is back from Rome where she fell in the forum. She cracked her back, but she saved her eggs. She put herself on ice for three days, and now that she’s back, her back is back to normal.
Feathers flew in Hatchburg as the proposed constitutional amendment to prohibit same-sex marriage died. Thelma and Louise had a jelly doughnut party to celebrate.
Henrietta heard it from the grapevine that Eloise laid a golden egg this weekend at Hatchmatch.com. E found an Irish rooster, and rumor has it that she laid her first dozen extra extra large. Eloise isn’t clucking, but Joey saw her at the Roasted Corn with a love, love, love, love, I-feel-better-already-kind of smile.
Why should I feel so discouraged, I want to know why? Could it be that our “mission accomplished” war is still blowing up? Could it be those sweet Indian children who burned to death? Could it be the latest beheading, or is it because Martha got five months?
Helen Mirren, why did you do it?
I think there are more beggars in Rome this year
Not more gypsies holding emptied-bellied toddlers
Not more senzatetti
but more straight-ups begging for their lives
A dream's length from the Pantheon
B flats and F sharps dissipate into the breath
of the beg-less
An accordion player presses her back against the wall
Her eyes closed to the day, she wants just
one cup of coffee
Her sweater shivers in a breeze of tourists
Her money cup opens wide in Via Minerva
In the Pantheon, Raphael dreams in accordion notes
January cries all night like a mother whose baby
dies without warning
I think there are more beggars in Rome this year
Del Fabro is back from Rome where she fell in the forum. She cracked her back, but she saved her eggs. She put herself on ice for three days, and now that she’s back, her back is back to normal.
Feathers flew in Hatchburg as the proposed constitutional amendment to prohibit same-sex marriage died. Thelma and Louise had a jelly doughnut party to celebrate.
Henrietta heard it from the grapevine that Eloise laid a golden egg this weekend at Hatchmatch.com. E found an Irish rooster, and rumor has it that she laid her first dozen extra extra large. Eloise isn’t clucking, but Joey saw her at the Roasted Corn with a love, love, love, love, I-feel-better-already-kind of smile.
Why should I feel so discouraged, I want to know why? Could it be that our “mission accomplished” war is still blowing up? Could it be those sweet Indian children who burned to death? Could it be the latest beheading, or is it because Martha got five months?
Helen Mirren, why did you do it?
