Sit! Ah, martinette: For your whip–smart crack–of–the–heels: Well done. Here’s a pet. And, Black, you hussy: with your delinquent, rebellious, impertinent leer for a pet without praise: Very well.
Month: March 2011
Avoiding Jumps and Being Scrunched
I’m in a parking garage. I’m renting three cars at the same time and use one key for all three of them… because they are the same make. It’s important I have three going at the same time in order to accomplish something.
I’m on a ramp facing traffic. There is a police officer checking the speed of the cars as they pass. I turn the key. My car battery is dead. The police officer starts to drive over to give me a jump. I start ignition again. The car starts. It’s important I keep going to avoid having to accept a jump.
Without checking traffic (and right in front of the policeman) I go onto the street. My seat is schwounced up and my face is almost pressed against the window shield. I can barely move to steer. This is embarrassing just in front of the cop and even worse if I get into an accident.
Only when we are grown up do we understand our innocence is as beautiful as our savvy; we leave that part out.
Pa, I know the stubble of your beard. You kissed me goodnight after you missed dinner, working late. I take that stubble to my grave. I tell God about your stubble. Those nights you let me shine the light for you under the car I have absorbed all of that light. I am full of that light. When you hinted I might be another Einstein I am an Einstein so as to fulfill your pride of me. Your insight that I need no other guidance but my own I turn this straw into gold. Pa, perhaps this story is incomplete It is enough. Thank you, Dave
Outburst in Emptiness
Hard to explain this blubbering ’mid forest woods near silvery stream tugged along by black and blonde dogs hunting twixt moonbeams
It's hard to carry a tune Some, singing from their youth, seem naturally talented We are such picky receivers Yet, what a delight when some song pushes our buttons over and over again playing ourselves back to ourselves Winds up in a mystical collection Yet no way to share with another the depth of its echoes through us the hidden–spot tickle of its touch Agony unshared A dread to share As like it falls on deaf ears the horror of triggers missing in another the tip–top registers of our soul And this some polished piece of painstaken production How much more terrifying when we play ourselves I trip along as the band plays on I might look queer, but I'm certain no one holds a candle to my music
First, the finding of the cloth: something to cling to Then, the pulling, wondering: what will it lead to? Then, an acceptance of its never–end and the assured fashioning clothes from its threads
Forgive my bluntness when I insist I'm eternal and wise as the universe In perceiving you I see you in me There is my heart, in you You, flapping around, doing your own thing When shall we tea in the kitchen? heart to heart
Perhaps a mistake to forgo the ache making of one’s self a human With spiteful tenacity takes herself as lover A joyful bed in loving herself, loves the world Gobbling down gleams of inspiration indulging strange urges and combinations to satiate the little one secretly nursing, growing embarrassing From a patchwork of snacking and digesting miraculously combining into a self–contained story its own life Flesh and blood for others to see critique, abjure recklessly Perhaps to glimpse fragility imbibe what magnificence might come if they too put out be awestruck and taken–in
I’m not sure and my curious desire allows me to be carried away anyway