I lied, but I did not mean to lie
I was trying to get the hallway leg of The Tiny Tour up this week, but things have been too hectic. I am sorry. The readings should be up here next week. To entice you to come back, I am including below a poem by Christina Mengert, which she wrote after I took some pictures of her. The pictures I took can be seen on my Flickr page (link on the right below).
Here is her poem:
The Wildness is Interior
For Dottie Lasky and Gaston Bachelard
That music is fled; our reaction
to daydreaming is to call color out
and also expectation. The music
is a nest but not a shell and these
things are different as one red lip
to another red lip. I ask you what
you are looking at and you say,
“sometimes your breasts, sometimes
the fire” and I think this must be
what is called the aesthetics of shiny
things, like how birds fall headlong
into the hard earth and only then
look back into the hidden places
for import and understanding. You took
my picture several times but not
just my picture, always with new light,
angle, recording the awkward expression
of the watched. If only I could daydream
before cameras, or all the music in the world
comes and goes in the form of longing
so I can say, “sound is a forward presentation”
even as the space is rounding to make
everything available, though really
it always was, buried in my body
like risky pearls.