you’ve
backed away. our beginning is tragic sagacity. it pokes at us. I never found
you in a grave; I was lucid, unclear, agitated, distinctly indistinct. I
dragged up a goblin. I ate a gorilla. I grogged my spirit. hate is too strong,
dislike doesn’t nail it, albeit, palms were crucified.
it
never avails the need for closure, most need others to dance, to become grief,
to endure untamed skies.
the
flute is historic, heterodox, your body was once desecrated. times are vicious,
women take liberties, men can be animals. entering into catastrophes.
I
can’t claim what never prevailed with uneasiness at my ink; a blot on us, a
blot on them, a blot on existence.
a
writer is charged. ghettoes remain forbidden. people arrive to feel unclean. a
need for disjunct. a need for raw reality. a desire to misuse each other.
the
tales are enormous. I see them in you. most of us are allegories. the plot is
dispassion, the body is tortured, a woman put out a cigarette—I smelled flesh.
but
you were smart, driven, emphatic, gunning, seducing. forced to suppress the
deepest woman. to sit in a den, sipping Scotch, rereading Virginia Woolf—the
way she meanders, the concrete as it appears, the abstract reminding of an
ungraspable interior. pure pain. purer ills. a feeling into a decision into an
angel—to meet something that hurts; it attacks, it’s silent, it has problems,
you decode. it’s found inside, seeming askew, it operates on a plane in
anguish.
I
see something. I rethink something. if one accepted you, the kernel you, you
might die in their arms.
I
was a damned spirit. I came up in ranks. much segue, much seclusion, more
suspicion. I met a mystic, I presumed a mystic, it becomes difficult to see
humans under any other umbrella.
my
projection, always my projection, I’m learning to fight/ignore projections.
it’s
melodic sure flame into anxiety so younger perusing its own type of appeal; one
is physical rockets, another has wits, or one carries all components.
watching
builds memories—the mind, eyes and ears never tire of receiving input.
certainly crazed by one
fact: one might never notice us, not in fashion to admiration.
I will decrease. I will
long, love, and sing my song. I will ignore my mind, I will revise my heart,
because affection is first addictive, then irritating, many times, taken for
something mis-received.
