The words are out in print for comment or not, and the judgement is not guilty for now. Decision hangs steady for three days running with little deviation in the story line. Simple fool to be nothing better than or just something overlooked again. The wonder of it all and the knowing is like a path. I stopped on the walk, dropped to my knees and counted, curled like a fist, waiting for the moment past passed.
Why argue when you can persuade, I asked you last night. The word sashayed along my tongue, and I am a snake of influence, slither and glide, convince and encourage. Harmless to most, I carry no poison. I delight in commiseration. My condolences are no sin. Even scandal can light the way at times when dark is bright.
Five days nicotine free and this hypnosis cure is crueler than patches. The fire still burns in me, endorphins knowing no rush, and every cell and pore rages at Otis Redding, singing loud and expressive into this waning Wednesday’s self-induced insomnia. The voice repeats in my head and on the audio tape I listen to at night, “Is it good for me?” “Is it worth the price?” Breathe deep, count down from 11 to 7. “I am relaxed.” “I am calm.” “I am in control.” If I was going to reprogam my mind, for the moment that cravings come, I should have asked for orgasm or side splitting laughter instead. Note to myself: Think bigger next time.
In an instant, sparklers, the sizzling popping tips, smoking into the July moon. Fairy tales and unknown possibilities, the penny in the fountain, the divine reaches into nothingness, and a moment’s peace.
My mother was right. The bone isn’t stronger at the place of the break. I remember this as I listen for the sound of your car turning back. I have been listening for for 13 years and you never come. This time is no different. Your goodbye leaves me scattered pieces this heart I mended, I tended so carefully these past four months with papers signed. And tears come like air and sobs are hard like the sprinter’s gasp and I find no peace, no deep waters under this shaken surface. So alone, and you refuse my love again and again. I know you don’t love me. I felt it for six years, the unsurmountable task of communication. We could find no network that could bring us together, no cables long enough or strong enough to channel the feelings. And again and again I wait to hear what you can not say. Maybe you think in your silence you do not hurt my feelings as much as if I were to hear the truth. Why is it like this between us? You are the only man whose love I have ever wanted to have. Time means nothing if it can still hurt just as much now.
Sleep beckons, but your words read to me, for me, peal like bells in memory and I wonder, prone to the condition, curious, demanding, what will this do to your style; already changed forever like me. I do not think or suppose, I am beyond that now, knowing there is no always but now. Merge and create. The colors begin to blur, oils mixed in thick haste to cover the pale absence with light. Chords are stuck, the first time harmony, not even trying, aspiring, and your opus unfolding as I bloom.
Stronger, your words as though in a flash; all that you have been, suddenly brilliant, focused, honest, hiding nothing. Each word, heart beating, pulsing at the lines, spilling, eyes closed, tingling inner, breathing slower, harder, with each line stanza grouped together; each more powerful than my last, combining in elements, lining up for the last word; shot into nothingness, never waiting to stop spinning.
heavy hung every second longer than day wider than sleep waiting unfold inside out caught spun into gold spun into God meaning the cosmos this universe This Week’s Homework: “To be without attachment and without avoidance.”
At the edge on the lion’s back, a glass of water shattered against the tile floor, clouds open up, reveal the sun, a paper envelope, greased with tin, the rust stain, hair collecting in the corners, and you are still gone.
Soft, her face against my face, cheeks touching, smile, in her sounds, she is stretched, never changed, given without condition, curling her body against my own as we drift to sleep.
Not ready to go back just yet; the stillness, outside cool air; a smoke on the patio; the cats asleep peaceful vibe. Dreaming of my Virgo man, who has not yet shown himself to me. Maybe he is waiting inside a coffeehouse books on table, notepad caputuring the spill; or traveling the world, taking notes. The breeze through the window, South Florida autumn, brings the first clear air of seasons through my screen. Soft cloth to the outside glass, let the sun shine warm this room. Curtains back, parrots in the sky, another cafe con leche, por favor.
And so it goes on for those blessed enough with a healthy past no clean break, clean continuation Squeeky morality. Cheeky morality for popes in hats and nuns in wigs, The scent riding in on the air is warm, real, arms so big they could fold up the sun; clouds, even airplanes held for a moment in the seconds passing by too fast on a rainy afternoon surprise.