she was canonized. I like reading
Gertrude The Great. I like moving through spaces. I like getting close, and
pulling back. the tricks like the treats, the box has many of us wheezing. I’ve
been closer, I feel apart, trying to be in that tone, the meter, that rhythm.
so ecclesial, more theological, I see us interested in a segment of studies.
the movie is Life, the reality is on Cinemax, the liquid is too much to master.
much uneasiness, quasi-holy, quasi-filthy—the latter is of great interests.
brooding lately. it was unknown to me. it just keeps popping up. the world is a
forest. the grains are being cooked. the crooked are being made straight. so
many parts. many quartets. many at an unsung fence. (I’ll give it to them, radical
warriors, I’m framing the loss—waiting for it to open again.) no need for us to
worry, or everything is on the line, the future comes with intricacies, skies,
people, let us pray—the goodness in souls. the complexion is the complication.
I was aimless, the art noticed, I was stunned, I was lectured—I was told — “We
don’t sleep, we don’t nod.” some crazed reality, five days into it, the odor of
the heavens. I kept thinking about it, to ask about it, what would Love do? an
upbraid. a notion. a private, insisted reality; posing pressure, pain and
passion. I couldn’t truly look into his mother. the funeral was like a dream. I
was feeling numen—so casted, so tortured, I was good and ridiculous. the last
mile, I’d vanish, the miles are eternal, the walls creek, I listen at morning
time. the floor is moving, I’m deep awake, I exaggerate!
