Sunday, August 28, 2011

28 August 2011


At the two-year mark, my love is at a place where my language starts to break down. The feeling I have is strong and deep, but it's also very simple. It doesn't have any reservations or conditions or conflicts of interest. It doesn't need to justify itself by the overuse of adjectives, ornate verbosity or ruffles. This love is a flat, cool, blue thing like a calm river or sky. It lies at the base and at the ceiling of my days and moves them along with a quiet constancy.

What would I have done otherwise? Maybe my nervous system would have short-circuited. Maybe I would have grown hard and jaded. Those were real fears for me once, but here I am. My heart as soft as a flower and my eyes are open.

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It's your very skeleton I love, dear.
The honesty in your gait,
The frank way your hands fall at your sides.
The earnest curve of your skull into your brow and then jaw.

I let my eyes fall
Into the places where you are most yourself
I am going to stay there forever
In the slopes and valleys of your bones.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

27 August 2011


While making love, I knocked a bowl of strawberries off the night stand.

A mosquito stung my nose while I was taking a bath,
I slapped him into the water and bathed with him, dead.

I went to sleep and dreamt of a wall of water, hare krishnas, and a hanged man.

A full moon. A hurricane.

The rain, the rain, the rain.

The dams will break and wash the symbolism off everything so we can see what's what.

Friday, August 19, 2011

19 August 2011




Menstruation Questions and Answers


What does it feel like?

Two clenched fists right inside your hip joints.

Why do you cry when it happens?

Because it marks the passing of time.

Who do you blame?

Myself.

Why is this necessary?

I don't know.