These drugs,
simultaneously filling my insides and wetting,
pushing and cleaning them sloppily out.
greens
browns
strings and putty.
strung
ed
o u t
lids both halved and fulled.
Is this coming back? Me coming back?
–
I will admit. When we got off the phone I uttered aloud my disbelief. The rest of the day hovered in the final frays of our clinging
til the next day
. I knew you’d gone.
He’s gone.
hes gone
–
–
I am not “his girl” any longer.
–
sometimes striking clarity will emerge from these smoking tangles.
I’ll see some curly-haired lemon tending.
I’ll see the necessity of all of this strife.
I will realize, like, +
the glorious reminder that we worked because of likeness
in other words, the brilliance I admired so so much in him
is MY BRILLIANCE !
it is my potential. It is my past and my path and all that is ahead ,
twining. curling. eyelashes outside of spiraling shells,
lining tassel and velveteen.
–
I’ll see his happiness, reclining, billowing on a bed of smoke, with some sort of moon gently lowering her breasts to his lips
he, Master, drinks from the breasts of the mother
and she’ll offer
if I’ve anything to do with it
just in hope
I’ll want for those teats to swell
with all the dusty swill of swirling elements and precious
power
bond
canonical cradling.
Drink, precious beautiful son .
–
–
I stand by my assertion
of knowing and not, at once at all.
this is my present life, after all.
and sure, we never learn anything ‘knew’
we just reacquaint
but you know, with your study onthe brain
all the puppetry string meddling in to distort the leaves and falling plains laying deepin.
–
i know, but i don’t know.
and not yet so solid as to get this intuitively [for the here now lately]
so, sorry babe.
–
‘Tleast I know enough to cognitively recall how beauty is ugliness and vice verses rolling off silent tongues! This isn’t intuitive, there’ins the issue.
I’ll make it mine, boy. I’ll remember that fear is nothing but choice of death.
I’ll remember the vice versas,
the vices
my vic(tims)(tors)(es) whilstriving to surpass.
–
and someday, I know
this notion
like no one can understand me but him
like no one can connect as us
like God has escape d grasp and here’s the end
nothing to succumb but loneliness
– i know this will fade, in the face of our truth that all things shift, pass, swivel, and change.
doing my own dance of spirit, and life.
–
–
–
so here’s to fists
and rose wines.
toes between toes and grubby carpets.
here’s to the heavyness in reggae hips
the wisdom of ages
and impossibility of time.
here’s to storybook characters too real to be invented.
to bubbles
and fortunes told.
Here’s to flat squishy bread
and the sad smile that will always come to meye corners
when I think of how you learned to forget your teeth around me.
here’s to the cold washing over
in a room full of misunderstanding
and flirting as a standin for outrage.
here’s, babe,
to your softest skin
and the wave plains your arms made ;
the history of your hair.
the way your collar bones looked me in the third eye
through that cobweb street scholar sweater.
here’s to trying
and dying
and feeling
and mealing.
here’s to falling face first into darkness
and getting caught by light.
to too much talking
facilitating
and extraordinary knowing.
InImy
the love
the pain
the process
our duty.
Here’s to conscious acting
and self-guidance life.
Here’s to our defiance
and beautiful, slow, but mutual compliance.
Dance.
–
Thanks for playing my music.
