Below is a poem I wrote on a napkin for Poly, a friend. I miss her. She lives in Kansas City. I wish we could see each other more often-here there are so few things that remind me I am alive. Pavlina is the only person who continues to enspire me, all the time...

The Third Space is Perfect

The imaginary, the real. Perfection lies in between.
Gypsies, stolen cars, men, cheese, wine, critical geography, Mexico, cheese, more cheese.
Hard to find perfection in this state of mind. Too many mind. No mind!
The 7-minute secret of perfectly undercooked pasta.
(We reached double perfection by cooking the pasta 14 minutes!)
Men. The masters of no-mind.
Some perfect, some not so perfect.
Some real, some unreal.
The real are the dispensable ones.
It is the unreal we find indispensable.
The moment of inspiration
Waiting just around the fridge,
Diluted with a cocktail of Malibu,
well, drops of Malibu (what is the point of getting drunk prematurely) and grapefruit juice, named after one of its inventors-Lemalibu. Near perfect.
Then the sauce with the perfect color, and near-perfect taste.
Named after its source of inspiration. Pavlina (though she is not quite sure the combination of pasta tomatoes and whipped cream is that original).
The movie with more than just the samurai;
the movie with the perfect philosophy,
where my hero- the perfect man - died with the
Perfect words
-They all look perfect in his eyes-.
And Pavlina missed that moment.
How un-perfect of her.
Still, we somehow managed to capture the perfect moment,
She jet-locked, me wine-locked, both cheese-locked.
Ah, the cherries, and the music.