The Optimism of the Breathing

I've got nothing but too many shops to hit before cocktails and canapes in one last fine fury of food and drink purchasing. Plus some house cleaning, and an outdoor porch to prepare, and a fireplace to sweep out, and lemons to juice (I will be beautiful as Susan Sarandon in Atlantic City).

So, here's to a 2009. May it be good enough we can wish a happy 2010 and think such a wish might be a possibility. Thanks for reading this year and see you next (in that way you read my words and I hide in your brain a bit).

In the meantime I found this:

A Good Year Down

by Jeni Olin

New York will not accept me at this weight &
Mothers of the disappeared don’t come ‘round
Here anymore. I said you’re housekeeping aren’t you
With Lipton tea stains & the Establishment
Seriously attracted. He said: No
I’m turning down the beds. Now it’s my turn
In bed with a beautiful American rage
Like brunettes with night sweats. My love
Semiprecious & stoned
In the shoulder season we hold on
Though I am dismal & have no dope
Siphoned off behind pink Easter
I fake an optimism
Just to breathe—Just thinking of him for once &
The Wandering Jew that ate my sunshine
But I know flowers like Zorro was my dad
Those garlands of thin hissing lasers
So with the “sexy isotherms
Of semiotics” we meet again at the Kiev
To check chemistry. They bring the lights
Down on those cherry pies & like cryogenics
It sorta works. This time my love
The salt doll of night egging us on
Straight to the zeppelin mooring
With she-has-a-bit-of-the-neardamned-in-her-
Like-when-a-cloud-dies construed as
Well, all right, I’ve seen worse.