babyhead

My roommate caught me and my boyfriend Julio returning from a jaunty little outing the other night:


I have been plagued by a mysterious upset stomach this whole past week, but whenever I ride my bike it disappears. Julio always makes me feel good.

I hope whatever this is clears up soon. I am making an appointment with a naturopath tomorrow. I feel like such shit. Which is weird, because I am seriously one of the healthiest people I know. This is making me irate. I am unable to eat anything except oatmeal and un-homogenized yogurt.

I want to be in this poem right now:

Sunday, I am eating a
grapefruit, church is over at the Russian
Orthadox to the
west.

she is dark
of Eastern descent,
large brown eyes look up from the Bible
then down. a small red and black
Bible, and as she reads
her legs keep moving, moving,
she is doing a slow rythmic dance
reading the Bible. . .

long gold earrings;
2 gold bracelets on each arm,
and it's a mini-suit, I suppose,
the cloth hugs her body,
the lightest of tans is that cloth,
she twists this way and that,
long yellow legs warm in the sun. . .

there is no escaping her being
there is no desire to. . .

my radio is playing symphonic music
that she cannot hear
but her movements coincide exactly
to the rythms of the
symphony. . .

she is dark, she is dark
she is reading about God.
I am God.

(Charles Bukowski)