I want to paint.
Having a party next weekend, somehow 80 people were invited? Definitely do not even know 80 people. At least half of them will never be able to escape the public transportation system of Brooklyn. The roof will cave in.
Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly--
A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky
Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxide, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.
O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.
- Poppies in October by Sylvia Plath
I'm remembering the guest list we made in that park and cracking the fuck up. In solidarity. Lolling in solidarity...
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80 people.. Wowza!
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