Phoebe. Born into the wrong century. Not quite nouveau, gypsy, zen, beat or dandy. Fitzgerald and Ginsberg. Attar, Meir and Smith. Always governed by the scent of zatar chicken with labna and pomegranate. T shirt days. Inarritu. Baker, Barthes and Burgess. Bobba's orange cake. Harvey Milk. Lacan, Legend, Leibowitz, Lurhmann, Lyotard and Lookalikes. Rent. Tessellating objects. Frida Kahlo was right all along. Mumford. I quote Step Brothers daily. Delirium tremens. If John Legend did not exist, neither would I. Serendipity. 70th wedding anniversaries. Symmetry. George Burns quotes. Auden Anarchy. Monroe and beauty existing beyond rag & bone. //
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
