introspective periscope : peeking inside since Y2K

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margaritas and making sense of hieronymous bosch

on doors and tea, 24 days - fifth of august, 2001-under orange moon-

"i love you the best. better than all the rest....indian summer." ~jim morrison, the doors

i went out after they headed up the stairs and into their room. they had been drinking margaritas on a sunday night out behind the house. i had been here talking on the phone with him and my hands were busy breaking and spreading and rolling fine shreds into a thin parchment tightly. when i heard the door close, i turned out the light and went out the basement door to the sidewalk and thats when i saw her.

i picked up the chair by the pool and walked around in the glow to the corner where the strawberries meet concrete borders. i set the chair down and sipped my iced tea from the famous blue plastic cup and had a seat and smoked slowly the slim stick.

and i watched and listened and thought and sorted out and felt better. i needed to unwind.

and when i came back inside i noticed that she had moved quite a distance in the short time i'd been out and was nearly hiding far on the other side of the house; too far for me to see anymore. i felt the rotation and revolution of the planet.

and i came back in and glimpsed the bags of tortilla chips. they'd been having s a l s a and c h i p s with their margaritas.

how v e r y and e n t i r e l y thought out. and these are my P a R e N t S. and this is what i thought.

.Drinking Margaritas and Eating Salsa.

never thought this would be what i want

never thought this is what i'd have

never realized how lucky i'd be

to have what they've got here.

and i want margaritas

on sunday night

yes, i want margaritas

by orange sherbet light...

margaritas by orange sherbet light.

i want chips with you in the darkness

and whispers in the dim light of moon

and hand holding on a sunday summer night

and retiring to our room and

i want twenty something years with you

and i want even more than that

i want to respect the holiness of sunday

in a way of our own

drinking margaritas on a sunday

under creamsicle orange moon.

i want enjoy the comfort of night

on the song of the cricket and secada

and the pulse of mine with yours

blending rhythms

even and sedate.

i want margaritas and salsa chips

when i've got to be up the next morning

to start a week anew

frustrating and pragmatic.

and when i see the comfort

of the pair that has retired

at only ten o'clock,

i think of where we're headed

on summer nights like this

when even with this expending distance,

i can feel you next to me;

yes, i can feel you and

i can feel the future

when i lay my head

on your chest...

i can feel the future

when you breathe.

and i can see

by chaste dimness

tinted orange

us sitting quietly

on sunday evenings such as this

sipping margaritas

without the salt

and eating chips and salsa

to celebrate

Our religion...

baby,

i am

margaritas and chips and salsa

in love with you.

~.~

(i just wanna give props to two men, one long dead and the other very very alive: Hieronymous Bosch for painting it in the first place and Paul Ben-Zvi for making me see it.)

i finally u n d e r s t a n d.)

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.what came before. - .what happened next.

a diamond at the bottom of the drain - 20 october 2017
baseball season to football season, abbreviated - 25 september 2017
the doodles - 11 july 2017
at arm's length - 4 july 2017
like a sea-mammal needs a bicycle - 30 may 2017

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