*** Random Poetry Anyone? *** | |||
Sunday Spanish Nights Tonight the cobblestones are slick With spilled, sticky brew, sloshed From the bottles and cups of revelers Stumbling from one door to the next, Tobacco and sweat emanating from Each dazed face, deaf from the pounding Techno and blind from the flashing Lights and writhing shadows That wrap around the darkest corners. I love this place, the humid air rich With foreign vowels and the lilting laughter Of my friends, flirting with men Whose language they barely speak. We wash In and out of each bar and club like seaweed Floating with the tide, drink specials Here and the best DJs there, all enticing to our Hungry American appetites—it can never Be enough for us to devour. All too soon we’re stumbling with the rest, Trying to remember down which alley We’re staying and which cathedral looms Over our rooms. Just another Spanish night Of living and forgetting the places that we call Home, in favor of one that feels more like it. ( 11/14/2004 01:15:00 PM ) Lisa#
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