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  circadian rhythms - isabelita orlina reyes
Circadian Rhythms
by Isabelita Orlina Reyes

You go to the party for people you don't talk to,
find the structure of a touch and a swivel is hollow,

console yourself with the once in a while--
you're an expert in the intoxication

of the now. Understand how things arrive
and leave--they have to, they want to:

they believe in the perpetual newness
of roses, death and resurrection in flight,

mobility in the metro rail passing
under the arched bridge, against a giant wall

of toothpaste, instant noodles, backpacks,
two radio towers rise. You weren't listening last night,

steeped in Hollywood and household chores--
that morning rush--the day's to dos fell in

with each other until they were lost
like white sugar in mountain strawberries and milk,

so you forgot to throw the dead things away,
smelt the pall lingering about the house.

*

In this evening's milling, hors d'oeuvres become talk
of distant wars, poetry, the problem with parties,

drinks draw the living from out of hiding places,
a stranger calls you by name, offers a gaze,

some art, a glass of cabernet. Too private
for such disclosures, you wish for sweet dreamless sleep.

That's what you're reduced to in isolation. But look now,
love is on the table and it's time to say grace.
  8/06/2004 11:27:00 PM
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