Wednesday, September 23, 2009


_______... unspoken

Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew

And after this our exile
____Ash Wednesday, T.S. Eliot

(1. writer's block)

and what do i do if i have words left over?, in remainder. not enough for a description. a sentence or two at most, with incorrect grammar- i don't know, most my conjunctions are gone.

sachet full of jacaranda, violet flowers in powder form. sniff twice: morn and eve, continual sixteen or [_]years [_] slight purple tinge to sniffles in winter [_] spring tightness in fingers. immune from autumn. bee stings. excessive [____]

(2. woman-worship)

a thousand girls cried the Salva Regina into flowering (silent sister veiled in white and blue), and quiet-eyed Romeo's burried their heads into the breasts of their mothers and lovers - kissing it perpetual and wishing to be abandoned into some more quiet world, comprised only of two hands in their hair, and the softness meeting their face, all else space.
___and the girls (signed but spoke no word) hummed their hymn. and saved all mankind.


it makes me sad to see pictures of strangers smiling.
how long does it remain that way?
sooner later..

if only we could invest them. deposit them into library walls. busstop seats. redlights. internet homepages. and have them slowly find their way back. surprise us at the supermarket checkout, behind a pack of gum. smile back at us. some perfect memory that deserves to live even if i don't.

i spoke to a physicist. asked about echoes of memory. 'boomerang theory' i wanted to name it. a penance for my sins. ___we had lunch and took a photo together. ___later we drank dark rum and we made noises that were either laughs or cries. ___when i woke up keys trembled in my hand and someone had hit my car and there was plastic all over the street.


my body hurts from jogging and sex.
moves slow.
lags a little in conversation from sleeplessness and anorexia.

sits long hours doing very little, and asking for nothing more, from pills.

(5. prayer)

dear Lord Alleverything, dear Wonderfulmostest Who knows the answer to Thursday afternoon and string-theory and multiple-orgasm and loneliness:

i apologize for my every failure in being human - including (especially) my failure to know what that means. i apologize for not making better use of the pool, swearing too much, self-indulgence and encouraging people to have pre-marital sex.
__i apologize for those times i cannot do more than sit and stare. sit in the sun and contemplate warmth. it is lazy of me, i know. even knowing this to be true... i cannot explain why, in those moments, i just feel that You're there and waiting for me to join You. crazy i know. i apologize for blaming my faults on Evergreatest You. i am most sorry for believing too sincerely that there is a fingertip or long-lost exhalation of Yours that sometimes finds me, and pats my back, and redeems my misspent everything, and makes me feel that feeling that binds the letters of the word h a p p y together insufficiently:

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

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