mementoire

enfer du plaisir. oui, c'est melange
c'est les interiors du sommes.

my french is as bad as tatiana's english.
still dancer, thanks for the plaisir.

i was in the same room
where the drums between us
turned bright ocher & rust
formed in the bridges.
someone else sits at the electronic
intersection. we sing songs
everyone knows. there are smiles
as the covers take us under
back to when his hair was as long
as mine and the ford mustang was entree
to a spoiled youth
where fruit dropped into his mouth
open or shut and the lsd experience was a first
hand phenomenon of unexplored duration.
later the sky signalled explosions
and i asked for more. i talked to you
all the way to memorial
then i put you away again.
the best poems are never seen.