Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Suji

The writing comes from unwriting.
From sitting with the blank
and letting the truth creep out
one painful word at a time.
I think about living in L.A.
Fighting the cars,
and the sun,
and the blondes.
Giving in to the Valley girls
and the starlets on Hollywood Boulevard.
I think about palm trees,
and eighty-degree Chirstmases,
and how hard my body would have to be
just so I could walk down the street
without feeling inferior.
I think about Third Street,
and the Promenade,
and Ted Hawkins,
and the waiter at the Indian restaurant
who had a crush on me
and used to watch me write lyrics
and poems
while I ate Saag Paneer.
I think about the cliff
and sitting on the edge
watching the traffic
and the seagulls below.
I think about the rain
and how it never came,
and the homeless man
who lived in my laundry room
and ate out of the dumpster,
and the way the laundry room
always smelled like urine.
I think about USC,
and your old Honda,
and late nights fucking
in my bed.
I think about going back to L.A.,
and talking to agents again,
and
kissing asses,
and trying to act like I did when I was twenty.
That was before I knew
just how much
I hate the sun.