Okay so everyone else spoke about the slam on Monday. Let me just say that it was incredible. Rich rocked the first piece harder than bedrock. Abena gave me goosebumps with her new energy used to revive the blacksmith poem. Everyone was awesome.

What was also awesome was dinner with Lovella. I had sushi and chicken teriakki. She and her friend auntie were great dinner company. I love her she is so full of positive energy. Like a little proton.

Yesterday's feature at Acentos moved me. She was just so cute. Not appearance only I mean everything that came out of her mouth. Her little giggles between pieces. When she did the piece with the hyena and the Women she giggled everytime she narrated someone in the dialogue. She was amazing. And she is also very stunning. The glasses, the hair, the diesel Jeans, The little orange and red flower. Every single thing She said and did was beautiful. Almost paralyzing. It was very difficult speaking to her. I fumbled over every word. Wow. Poetry can do that to me. She did that to me. Great poets sort of intimidate me. I am mediocre at best, what in me would be attractive to a great poet. The development of my craft shall enhance my self esteem and confidence. I hate reading a poem and getting a weak reaction. Makes me feel like I failed. I know that I just need to work on things more and practice more but I am sort of a perfectionist. I beat my self up whenever I get less than perfect. I am patient but I wonder where this poetry thing might take me. I can only keep writing and see where I go. The big problem is that when I think like this I can't write. When I write I stop all thought. I think while I edit. I love raw, unedited poetry that comes out in less than five minutes. It might have its flaws but it is sporadic. Free flowing is also awesome. I love it I really do. After my last experience I am terrified to do it but I still love it.

Next Subject

Tomorrow I will go pick up Rebecca from the airport and my 5 day vacation will begin. I am happy to be receiving her into my home and city. I will be a tourist in my own city. Ima even walk around lost with a huge map, a camera around my neck, looking up and stopping pedestrian traffic. Aint it lovely? If anyone has any suggestions Please leave it on the comment box thingy.
Today I must finish cleaning my apt for her arrival. The party people left a small mess, but that is just a tiny tiny tiny price to pay for the awesome fun that we shared. Since I have a days off for the next five days I will be attending the bowery on Saturday afternoon. That rocks. I have always wanted to go see that and go to Cornelia for Chances thing, but my schedule doesn't permit it. Now I will get one of the two done.

Quick note
Dude, Reina Rocks! Don't ask wny, she just does.

The poem that she wrote for me and Salon Lucero

A Bronx Poem
For Eliel

Shadow faces fade into the wood grains
Covering the reflective light
Sarah McClaughlin sirens out silence
And down into a whirlpool weed it goes
I watch it sweeten the floor
Made silky
Made wax filmed
Clean as sandalled feet in New York never are
This is the time to wonder at the mundane
Extraordinary man in the kitchen
Seasoning pots with expert hands
Before chicken slice slide themselves in
To sizzle symphony for him.
This is the time to listen with intent
To capture accented conversation
Hosted by
Music and walls
Shape spare words into poetic lines
A memory to dream upon
This is the time to notice
Scent and sounds
Dreams of kings resonating
Echoing so hard off the walls
Thighs shake like mountains coming down
Soon I'll be gone from the sanctity
Of Moses earth raised stories into skies
Soon the views I see will be found in rain drop-lipped leaves
Not picnic cloth patterned, plastic covered kitchen tables
Through a next door neighbor's window
Eliel's Bronx will be far from me
I beg the notes of this music to infect my ears
Stop them up so I only hear these notes
"I'd like to go back" golden lady of time
but I wont be able to
I beg the scent of exploding garlic and teary onions
To infuse my jean pores with memory
Make them remember this slick wood
While sliding along triangle dewy paths
Wet in the morning of a new moon
A midsummer bewitching moon meant for changing loves
Finding which is true
This is the time to notice footfalls
To look behind and around



Now tell me isn't that fabulous?
Okay enough of that.