“J’aprende ton presence a le vent.”


Bella Principessa in maxima brava … j’escrivere a te.

J’aprrendre ton presence comme le vent.

Je suis in le premiere place a la Napoli, room 302 in the UNA Napoli. And i think of you, and write to you in three tongues.. But from one heart. My Australian one. Which you stole the day we first met. I was overwhelmed then. And salved. In the way that Italia has saved me from my past, and that time, and … now i move towards you.

I look north, with the statue of ‘il munocipio di napoli’ to my left, and i try to stand … firmly but lightly looking toward you in Paris.

But instead my eyes well with tears.

When you believe that these words are mine, you will know that I am yours.

Benjamin George Griffin.
Naples, Italia.


Rom:  …Then love-devouring death do what he dare;
It is enough I may but call her mine.
Friar:            These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the appetite.
Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

– W.S. R & J 2,vii 

i flipped on Baz’ version of R&J
nd half paid attention
treating it more like background radio
not having a radio here

these words leapt out
for some fairly obvious reasons

and reminded me of every old love
(and one or two)
(particular painful)
(in particular 

fire and powder
as they kiss

The second line of final couplet
strikes me as forced

(but i’m probably just resistant)
(to restraint)

Meditation on the Plums II

She is thinking of the tart, thumb-sized plums
they ate together, and of one in particular.
Unremarkable, except it was the last he gave her.
Of what it was, to stand in the small stone
kitchen, tasting the bittersweet strings
of fruit clinigng to wood. The intimacy
in those ruins. Saying plum and not yet
meaning heartache. Letting the ordinary become the last.

 — Sarah Holland-Batt, Aria p56


for the Negev Desert, Sky

you beat on my chest
years ago
a bottle of tequila and a bubble bath between us
your tiny fists rain painful thumps
I say I don’t believe you
you can’t
you don’t
they aren’t innocent words
and yours isn’t an innocent voice
I say this
So I don’t have to say
I love you
too nakedly

Yelling and thumping

You will be embarrassed by this tomorrow
You will be embraced by me tommorrow
as I tease you relentlessly
because you’re a non-violent hippy
and you hit me relentlessly
You will be embarrassed for months
But I will remember it
your love
your tiny fists
your ‘innocent’ voice
years later
in the desert of prophets
that knows no innocence
or all of it
when I stare at the sky
blue and hot
and blank
I will remember
and believe
when I pick up a stone
and write

too nakedly.