Thursday, March 31, 2005

One year ago...

I sent out this email a few minutes ago. Some of you weren't on the list, and I thought it appropriate to share with all:

poets~

i'm sitting here in my apartment in schenectady, new york and thinking to myself, why the hell am i in schenectady, new york? i should be in kenya. or vietnam. or at least, in holland, michigan.

it was one year ago at this time exactly that we were in the brewery. phil was already well on his way, and i had a bag filled with poems by God-knows-who. Then Phil got a concussion. We broke into at least four buildings. Put up a banner in Dewitt. Plastered Lindsay's car with poems. Ate pancakes at IHOP. Some of us even went out to Jack's house. Who DOES that? :)

I want you all to know, that on the evening of the 2005 blitz, I am fondly thinking of all of you. I miss you all very dearly and think of you all often, even though I don't call as often as I should. That's my fault. I'll work on it, but no promises.

I wrote a poem yesterday. Felt good. And as I'm writing this, I feel like sharing it with you all. I think it speaks to our regrets... we shouldn't live with any. It's still very rough, but it says what it needs to. So, here ya go:

Icarus’ Last Thoughts

Melted wax and singed
feathers lost their grip when
he flew too close to the
sun. But the cooling breeze,
as Icarus plummeted to
his death, did not serve
as an adrenaline rush, as
sky-divers must often feel.

Rather, a cold indifference
to a father’s warning was replaced
by sadness. Fear and anguish
were furthest from his mind.

Sadness-
-never again tasting chocolate;
the lost feeling of a woman’s kiss; fermented
grapes from a wineskin; the salty taste
of the air on the seaside; butterflies;
rain;
the first new grass
of spring.

I hope this email finds you all doing well. If any of you are stir crazy, a lonely guy in Schenectady, NY could use a crazy visitor with a tendencey towards drunkeness. I'm going to go have a piece of chocolate cake and then pour myself a drink of something, take it out to the front porch, and toast the poets. living, dead, in hiding, wherever we are. i toast you all. live, live, live and burn, burn, burn like fabulous roman candles.

i love you all.
love,
~kyle (i have not yet BEGUN to drink) del

1 Comments:

Blogger Daniel said...

I raised a New Holland glass tonight to the DPS.

I hope there are some new drunk poets making memories tonight!

12:23 AM | Permalink  

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