rusted roses

dancing with yourself

would turn away, girl
if she knew any better
give epaulement and
disbelief for tomorrow

shrug off the sorrow
come about, ankles in rain
and turn to face the refrain

after all that measuring
coup de pied, go or stay
mark-ed by mellow disdain

the pleasures of cafe quotidien

There are many in New York, certainly.
There are many in novels. If you know
Hemingway's 'Garden of Eden' they can even form
the basis for a couple hundred pages of bohemian activity
and mediterranean abandon. Le Gamin, where this photo
was taken, is in the West Village, and it is no exception
to the rule that a standard issue french cafe is dastardly
in its romanticism. Jules in the East Village is wonderful as well,
a subterranean (yet somehow, sunny) reminder of the
French Resistance and that languid "counter" culture can be found,
and that jazz trumpet can come out of a mouth with no
instrument.

I'm sitting at the moment in Metropolitan Cafe in Federal Hill,
proof that Baltimore has its little secrets too, and certainly
Bob Dylan on the iPod plugged in behind the bar only adds that
American 'je ne sais quoi' that perhaps I was missing while enjoying
the Frenchness of the Village.

There would be some who would say, "stay! stay and enjoy your cafe!"

Wake up on a sunny little brick street,
Eat your oatmeal, write about love.
Baltimore is magic. Stay with us and discover us,
and notice how we're a little slower, a little sweeter-
and you are welcome to have your paper and your
coffee as long as you'd like.

well now I refuse to say "hon."
and I reserve the right to jump on the train, where all the best thinking is done,
and if I can't find my red beans and my louisiana lassitude one day
Well no matter how at home I feel in this little cafe,
I'll just have to keep looking for my own quotidien.

spring on good luck road

some bud, somewhere
we tried the parkway
and passed good luck road
only to find we could have stayed home and had tea
cherry blossom bust

Is the ritual cluster fuck a crucial part of seeing the
cherry blossoms in DC? Doesn't it just make it so
authentically American to not be able to get there?

We got over it and we drove instead to Alexandria,
and we had a lovely dinner with Erin and things
were smooth, and I thought that I could witness
my own tree in two weeks, that they are blooming all over,
that I don't need the vista of the carefully sprayed national
treasures and the cold white monuments to take in the sex of spring.