I’m still getting other peoples’ mail:
in this new but familiar white space where all my time is being eaten.
The yelps of neighbor dogs and rattling carts of the street collectors keep my cats awake and keep my will afloat.
I am hungry but I will not eat. I will save these trivial things for later. I have coffee and books and these are my only intake
I want our relationship to be different.
But I know the secrets and the filth and there is no pink glass large enough to reclaim our innocence.
So in the haze of a half-hearted summer I will sit and meditate on things that are trivial; like eating.
And I will decided which thing is the lesser of my worries and submit to the boredom of life while looking.
I smoke this morning’s last cigarette allowing the silver to drip from mouth to air and watch the contact with the air and petals in contact with the ground.
The touching is here.
(Reads marriage related article from magazine):
“I would never do this but if I were to do this it would be just as she says.”
Note: Let’s remake “Tops” and fuck on the chair.
An all-black duck in the road past the farm on the left. The past came up on me like The Unexpected/And I greeted it with a little tongue.
Greenery growing exponentially
Growing to you and me
& our bodies are motionless
& our thoughts sloshed
& severed us from realities less than
& not equal to our right ways.
and roadways, to the ivory little coast lines.
Cut me one, little lover.
because finery is optional here.
nakedness is a uniform.
The collection is only as great as its collector.