Notes From The Overground » girl http://blog.adambresson.org By Adam Bresson Tue, 15 Jun 2010 18:25:14 +0000 en hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.0 “In waters it’s starting, Phoenix Best Western…” http://blog.adambresson.org/2009/07/26/in-waters-its-starting-phoenix-best-western/ http://blog.adambresson.org/2009/07/26/in-waters-its-starting-phoenix-best-western/#comments Mon, 27 Jul 2009 05:46:12 +0000 heyadam http://blog.adambresson.org/?p=253 In waters it’s starting, Phoenix Best Western
You were floating in the Jacuzzi, bottle of wine lightly held in your hand
An afterthought of can, you spilled four drops onto the top of the water
I watched it turn from deep red to pink & then disappear
Right here, between us & I traced my initials in it with my finger close
In what was left, until that too went away & the words we say
Weren’t better than the words we didn’t try & couldn’t
So there are things you are going to say but shouldn’t
As the water forces your leg to brush against mine & I immediately feel
Caught lanterns melting over the Jacuzzi water, Japanese boats adrift lit & then dissolving
Making their way from me to you, perfect path, shedding light like oil over water
Of the hot night heat, last tango in Phoenix, last night light glow
Feeling that I could be put to bed in your arms, rocked awake
So much to do before this late night rock star party declines
Into goodbyes, by the time I remember what you just said
I will have already remembered what you didn’t say
The water lapping against the tile sides, dislodging me & I find
You are coming closer to me, eyes almost shut, arms opening
And nothing is as simple as learning letters & numbers in repetition
Try pulling this small current irregular, non-lunar & thankless
© Adam Bresson

]]> http://blog.adambresson.org/2009/07/26/in-waters-its-starting-phoenix-best-western/feed/ 0 “Beware a woman wearing jeans with a dead flower on her pocket…” http://blog.adambresson.org/2009/07/25/beware-a-woman-wearing-jeans-with-a-dead-flower-on-her-pocket/ http://blog.adambresson.org/2009/07/25/beware-a-woman-wearing-jeans-with-a-dead-flower-on-her-pocket/#comments Sun, 26 Jul 2009 03:40:49 +0000 heyadam http://blog.adambresson.org/?p=217 Beware a woman wearing jeans with a dead flower on her pocket
She schemes in black & white but wants colored things
Wears a sailor’s traditional hat on weekends but never roughed the sea
It is for these reasons she smells mostly like Whole Foods
Speaks French as a second language & signs her name with a heart above the “I”
In school she was the one you could go to for weed because her brother
Still drove that Camaro he kept going with magic & metal through the grunge rock days
And still, you’ve made out with her at the end of the party, last kiss of the night
Both sitting there discussing philosophy not realizing that by the very act of discussing this philosophy
You were undoing its foundation & making a case for existentialism
Which is precisely the reason flowers belong in pots
© Adam Bresson

]]> http://blog.adambresson.org/2009/07/25/beware-a-woman-wearing-jeans-with-a-dead-flower-on-her-pocket/feed/ 0 “Her pink capri pants…” http://blog.adambresson.org/2008/08/24/her-pink-capri-pants/ http://blog.adambresson.org/2008/08/24/her-pink-capri-pants/#comments Mon, 25 Aug 2008 03:14:24 +0000 heyadam http://blog.adambresson.org/?p=40 Her pink capri pants
Like strawberry icing with trick candles
Sparkle lit by my automatic eyes while walking
Through the Westminster mall with her Mom
Her pink capri pants
Told me she had a charm bracelet from her best friend
In her top drawer, in the oak dresser that
Her father gave her for her 15th birthday
Her pink capri pants
Held tight while she ate sweet bread & drank coffee
Made on the grill which billowed smoke like industrial smog
And taught two stray dogs to sniff the air at the gate to her yard
Her pink capri pants
Had a zipper on the front that gave way at a touch
Hiding panties her mother gave her when she turned 13
Matching the bra her mother gave her when she turned 12
Her pink capri pants
Were just like the white lace top with Hello Kitty
Dancing in purple stars & singing floating notes
Pulled tight around her chest, jutting out over
Her pink capri pants
Were sick of Saturday morning cartoons
Dubbed in a language her grandmother taught her
To be proud of but think in it more than speak
Her pink capri pants
Swore at me in Spanish, told me I need a fly car
With ground effects to complement the Tupac
Blaring from my ten speaker stereo, windows wide open
Her pink capri pants
Secretly shared with me the first time she did it
In the backseat of her Uncle’s Cadillac, with a boy
She called “cousin” but not sure, never that sure
Her pink capri pants
Were the reason going down the only escalator in the mall
She looked back at me & without saying so
Thought I’d make a better Friday night
Her pink capri pants
Disappeared into Forever 21 even though she wasn’t
And I’m left to take any clothes off her body
And be the king of firsts, always first I love you
When she grows up, I know, her pink capri pants
Will be a scrap in her memory book, pressed on a page
Before her prom corsage & after her graduation day sash
© Adam Bresson

]]> http://blog.adambresson.org/2008/08/24/her-pink-capri-pants/feed/ 0 “Starting in the middle of a lingering late night crowd out loud…” http://blog.adambresson.org/2008/06/21/starting-in-the-middle-of-a-lingering-late-night-crowd-out-loud/ http://blog.adambresson.org/2008/06/21/starting-in-the-middle-of-a-lingering-late-night-crowd-out-loud/#comments Sat, 21 Jun 2008 19:16:27 +0000 heyadam http://blog.adambresson.org/?p=13 Starting in the middle of a lingering late night crowd out loud,
there she was wearing a fire engine red dress,
that clung to her like air made men stare,
made them trip over their feet & the sidewalks.

Fire engine red loud like a clanging bell,
made everything swell crossing the boardwalk
out at Salt Creek Beach, minding the waves,
she moves with an effortless, all-body sway
that makes the waves pissed off
all they could do is foam then break.

Lipstick matching fire engine red dress,
want to wrap my lips around that first kiss,
want to miss her when she leaves her keys on the endtable,
watching her put on her earrings while nailing a torch song.

Cleaving through the crowd like a knife
cutting up, cut red blood out, shake it loose,
making the people separate like the fire engine Red Sea
& soak salt up with the density of skin-to-bone.

Her hair streaked with fire engine red
screaming caverns down her neck
falling over the sweet curve of her back open
& showing the lucky sweat scorch her skin.

She walks past me in this fever dream &
I saw a look my way, no look my way, wish a look my way,
to reach out in the wave of the late evening heat,
beg for water to cling the fire engine red dress
to every curve I could draw out from her body.

Walks down into the sand & so I follow
drifting on through the red planet orbit & its spinning gravity,
she sees me watching her & I can’t care
as she digs her fire engine red heels defiantly into sand.

She abandons those shoes, unneeded slips them off,
ties them in two with the straps around her hands,
tosses them by stones the color of red rock mountains,
making one line footprints in the sand.

She stops just short of the water
earnestly reaching out its wet fingers for her to come on in,
slips off her fire engine red thong, slingshots it backwards
as she runs into the water & does the back stroke counter to the waves.

Of course, they would welcome her. I welcome her.
I want to float on top of her.
I want to stick my finger in her mouth, trace her lips, slip my hand underneath the water line &
pull her fire engine red dress up then tear it. Use it. Wear it.
Like a tourniquet stopping the flow of my raging blood.
Give up this swimming.
Kiss the lipstick off her & trace the red streaks down her hair like red asphalt
as we close our eyes, hold our breath & fall on down to the deep, deep depth.

But, I just leave my eyes open & watch her,
appearing & disappearing in the water then waver like the heat waves.
With absolutely nothing, she is owning the midnight.

Another girl of summer, THE TIME IS NOW FOR BURNING THIS ALL AWAY.
All the wicked reverberations of a winter solstice, the bringing together of
her fire engine red, top-to-bottom, inside-out, over under topples all of this down
even on the hottest day anyone can remember
or in the coolest rush of an August night trembling for the drift.
© Adam Bresson

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