A list (of of mine).

Published on by taylor mardis katz1 Comment

things I love today/i love today’s things/ today’s love-things/in love, today’s things/a lovely day for things/things of today (love)/a day of love, a love of things

  • flowers in the canyon, my favorite ones possibly a pea relative
  • talking to my mom twice in one day
  • plans for soup (carrot ginger; “what a mom soup!” sarah exclaimed yesterday in her lavish hotel, 2 beds and 2 glass water bottles, filet of salmon, sparkling water & dessert!)
  • finishing a book in bed (“tales of a city” by amistead maupin)
  • starting a new book at the table
  • plans for tonight that involve misha and i sitting close then standing close then coming home
  • the idea of going home in august, and by home i mean, among other things, ladyfriends
  • the film “aimee and jaguar”
  • katie farris’ little book
  • knowing how to make little books because of art class
  • james schuyler (!)
  • loquats (first of the season eaten today, 2-3 browngold seeds per fruit)
  • sun-n-clouds
  • making up more of these names: may gray. june gloom. july cloud-ie, march starch, august smoggest… (san diegans love a rhyme for clouds)
  • the combination of purple & black
  • sideyard poetry reading coming up…april 22nd in the sideyard, poster to come
  • NPR’s all songs 24/7 music station
  • SARAH KATZ HAS A JOB SARAH KATZ HAS A JOB OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMGOMG

The last of the LA poems (mine).

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“New scenery, new noise”

said Rimbaud. I slept
through the traffic. I’m so
spoiled I get humble then
romantic. I’ve never held
a gun but I’ll sit beside you
or behind and ride and ride
*
Cougar on wheels

The bike changes
gears automatically—
I’m fast I’m slower I’m
skidding a little in the sand
I’m a sea snake on land
*
Last Wednesday

“It’s like your name is
‘Taylor Katz comma poet’
she said across a burrito
as the rain decided on us
*
“Hello I love you won’t you tell me your name”

I’ll be your amulet,
baby
*
Lost Angeles

Goodbye hand sewn Barcelona
pouch with the three overlapping
stars. Goodbye mint chapstick
from the pack of three and the birthday
lipstick; goodbye pocket mirror with the red
bunnies from the party’s grab bag. Goodbye
eye drops, olive green pencil from the notebook
set. Adios scar like a broken trident
on the left side of your face, see you
later, see you soon

LA poems, 11-15.

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Black tied

Thinking of Paris, France.
Thinking of mangy cats
in garbage piles.
A hair cut can change everything.
*
The Latter

“Do you think we’ll ever stop
becoming ourselves? Maybe
around 40? And then we cruise?
Or will we die at 86 having
come right up next to it?”
*
“Ok can we stop being serious now”

because it’s nearly 4am & late
to be a soldier for the word
“treasure” for the first time in my life,
but goddammit you are such a.
And hardly anyone knows it.
*
World Famous Big Dean’s

This is the first time I’ve wanted
a Coca-Cola this badly in years
*
Boarding

BUY ONE GET ONE FREE!
BUY ONE GET ONE FREE!
yell the kids at the pretzel shop but
don’t we stop needing salt as soon
as it’s offered? Take me to the ocean.

LA poems, 6-10 (mine).

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Late Lunch

I’ll have the Blue
Plate Special! We say.
What?! No blue plates
here at all?! Fucking
Los Angeles.
*
The fellow with the cowboy mouth

is a man I love
*
Return trip

Alameda Street, 6:45 pm.
I offer the man asking
for change an orange.
I’m trying to get a ticket,
he says, staring. A ticket.
*
Misha taught me plants

Handgrab of rosemary
from an apartment compound
on Montana Street falls
out of my lefthand leather
pocket, snap unsnapped
*
Not the Chelsea

The Georgian Hotel,
a deep cerulean. The bar
patrons drink, sheltered
from the sea’s easy chills
by flapping walls of plastic

LA poems (1-5 outta 20).

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The Station

9pm, downtown LA,
hugging a book like
it’s my family. Maybe it is.

*

Stir

There’s no real milk
or cream for coffee
Just some terrifying
portioned creamers

*

How do we know?

A man’s on his laptop
at dinner. The drink
I order comes lidded
in a jar, sprig of rosemary.

*

Convenience

In Venice Beach
you can buy a joint
& get your teeth
whitened next door.

*

Doncha know?

A hot dog on a stick,
I learn, is something different
than a corn dog.