She went out in the city with its lights like a radioactive phosphorescence, wandered through galleries where the high-priced art on the walls was the same as the graffiti scrawled outside by taggers who were arrested or killed for it, went to parties in hotel rooms where white-skinned, lingerie-clad rock stars had been staying the night their husbands shot themselves in the head, listened to music in nightclubs where stunning boyish actors had OD'd on the pavement.
Francesca Lia Blockthe rain is coming. little sister, the night broke. the thunder cracked my brain finally. the rain is coming, i promise you. i didnโt mean to but your tears will bring life back. purple flowers grow, the colour blood looks in the veins. theyโll sprout out of my chest. i promise you theyโll crack the ground, grow over the freeways, down the slopes to the sea. iโll be in their faces. iโll be in the waves, coming down from the sky. iโll be inside the one who holds you. and then i wonโt be.
Francesca Lia BlockI dreamed you were standing in this dark place and you touched these dead flowers and they lit up like they were electric or something. Electric lilies. Lighting up the Valley.
Francesca Lia BlockI love Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. I also love more cerebral poets like H.D. and Emily Dickinson. My parents subscribed to a monthly poetry periodical, and as a teenager I was introduced to Denise Levertov, who was an influence.
Francesca Lia BlockDear Angel Juan, You used to guard my sleep like a panther biting back my pain with the edge of your teeth. You carried me into the dark dream jungle, loping past the hungry vines, crossing the shiny fish-scale river. We left my tears behind in a chiming silver pool. We left my sorrow in the muddy hollows. When I woke up you were next to me, damp and matted, your eyes hazy, trying to remember the way I clung to you, how far down we went. Was the journey too far, Angel Juan? Did we go too far?
Francesca Lia Block