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| Original, unpublished poems from master storyteller, Francesca Lia Block! |
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come with me my dance hall darlings
we will put on floral print dresses and little red shoes
and take the floor
we will stagger like zombies to the very end
sweat thinning the cotton beneath our armpits
water spurting from our slack mouths
blood running from our feet
until we can barely stand
but we won't give in
(i will stay awake for nights and days
with green tea and with cakes
write until my wrists ache
and my fingers feel as if they'll break
a big book, fat and red
made of love and dread
a picture of me on the back
body shot dressed all in black
looking serious and less gone
recovered from my marathon
everyone will read and say
she stayed awake for nights and days
it's like we're eating her pain
digesting her brain
everyone will say
how amazing that she writes this way
does she ever stop?
does she know the meaning of writer's block?
they will be impressed
they won't consider this a mania, a sickness
that might make some want to cut off their thumbs
or at least tranquilize their minds)
my mind
dancing dancing on that emptying floor
dragging a half dead partner like a useless limb
not willing to give up the prize just yet
soon astro will heal
soon angel boy will get out of the hospital
soon angel juan will come back to witch baby
soon the mean girls will remember what it was like to cry
soon the sad girls will realize how important they are
and stop hurting themselves
and break up with the mean boys
soon the baby birds will crack out of their eggs
and wake the trees
soon the flowers in the garden will yawn open
soon the bears will get tired of sleeping
soon the warmth will help my feet stop hurting
soon my children will eat more vegetables
soon the government will change hands
soon someone will discover a cheap safe source of energy
soon i will see that big sweet face and not just in a photo
soon i will swoon in the back of an electric limo
soon you will sing to a room full of people
who love your voice
soon i will begin that big fat book i have been trying
to write
soon the smell of jasmine will make us drunk
but not hung over at dawn
soon i will realize that when i pop up and see
my darkest shadow
it is not a sign of doom but of an impending awakening
there may only be a small delay
but soon my darlings soon
soon it will be spring
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