couldn't we live forever without running out of occasions?

i havent been posting because of school so that's a good thing. all my energies are channeled and spent there. but i've not stopped writing - am still ruminating in my trusty notebook (of the papyrus variety), and though even the entries there are dwindling in content and frequency, my impromptu aphorisms remain in my head. when i've time they'll appear somewhere for personal posterity. which effectively means during the june holidays.

meantime, i'll take a short cut - and put up something not mine (but infinitely better). so here're some more mark doty, whose poetry have masted my sail past a recent high surf. and not only that, the shiver down my spine, the undulant wave of visceral orgasm. . .

from Chanteuse:

... that is how i would describe her voice,
her lyric that becomes, now, my city:
torch, invitation, accomplishment. my romance
doesn't need a blue lagoon standing by...

as she invented herself, memory revises
and restores her, and the moment she sang.
i think we were perfected,

when we became her audience,
and maybe from that moment on
it didn't matter so much exactly

what would become of us.
i would say she was memory,
and we were restored by

the radiance of her illusion,
her consummate attention to detail,
--name the colors-- her song: my Alexandria,

my romance, my magnolia
distilling lamplight, my backlit glory
of the wigshops, my haze

and glow, my torch, my skyrocket,
my city, my false,
my splendid chanteuse.
___

from The Wings

don't let anybody tell you

death's the price exacted
for the ability to love;

couldn't we live forever
without running out of occasions?