I am having crazy dreams! Last night one was centered in Alabama. Visiting with a poet there, who I know doesn't happen to live in Alabama, and while there I had a racial encounter which was surprising and saw my cousin who also doesn't live there. Too, I was in the same house I dream of again and again that I've never actually seen. I also drove there (I often have driving dreams where I estimate length of time it takes me to drive--last night was 6 hours, ended up getting "home" in 1 hour) Does this indicate my deficiency with time? Definitely surreal.
My cats are sick. One throwing up, one having trouble with the peeing. Been giving the latter an herbal concoction of my own--little slippery elm bark powder, parsley juice, ursa urvi powder. Going out again today to pick up some goldenseal. It's good for infections, apparently. Cat's doing a little better. Maybe I'm meant to become a naturopath vet. Best news is, it's cost me $20 so far, as opposed to around $100 if I'd taken her down the vet's "antibiotic" route.
Hey, people have been taking my picture. I feel like I look nothing like this. Strange.
Isn't this an interesting post. Why am I even writing this. I have another idea. Here's a recent poem:
matches
am I to be all things for you? youth, maturity; excellence in gait, occupation. interiors of steel guts?
there are colours that fool the eye. at night, an auburn blonde. (we argue). later still, the
ash felt coat. did it belong to her?
aftermatinees, aftermating. aftermath. length begets length, and so our speech is destroyed by time. your language indecipherable through interrogation (mine).
it appears simplicities, selected at random, are no more than dull investments (our mature years). the whys have surpassed the hows.
we pause to eat.
the strength of a decision.
the city's edges are small. you say trapped.
there are streets with names of
Saints who've yet to bare themselves to me: I seek,
I seek.
oh men.
we belive the things you tell us;
be sure to tell us right.
once more
we lie over each other like melted rubber,
little ponds of icing freeze our lungs:
the end of breathing.
a terrible beauty
matches this narration
in death, only.
My cats are sick. One throwing up, one having trouble with the peeing. Been giving the latter an herbal concoction of my own--little slippery elm bark powder, parsley juice, ursa urvi powder. Going out again today to pick up some goldenseal. It's good for infections, apparently. Cat's doing a little better. Maybe I'm meant to become a naturopath vet. Best news is, it's cost me $20 so far, as opposed to around $100 if I'd taken her down the vet's "antibiotic" route.
Hey, people have been taking my picture. I feel like I look nothing like this. Strange.
Isn't this an interesting post. Why am I even writing this. I have another idea. Here's a recent poem:
matches
am I to be all things for you? youth, maturity; excellence in gait, occupation. interiors of steel guts?
there are colours that fool the eye. at night, an auburn blonde. (we argue). later still, the
ash felt coat. did it belong to her?
aftermatinees, aftermating. aftermath. length begets length, and so our speech is destroyed by time. your language indecipherable through interrogation (mine).
it appears simplicities, selected at random, are no more than dull investments (our mature years). the whys have surpassed the hows.
we pause to eat.
the strength of a decision.
the city's edges are small. you say trapped.
there are streets with names of
Saints who've yet to bare themselves to me: I seek,
I seek.
oh men.
we belive the things you tell us;
be sure to tell us right.
once more
we lie over each other like melted rubber,
little ponds of icing freeze our lungs:
the end of breathing.
a terrible beauty
matches this narration
in death, only.
posted by MissWanda at 10:26 a.m.
1 Comments:
I got my arm caught
in the cab door again
passed the bill to him
with my teeth
like I used to
at the strip club
wondered how many bruises
add up to a crucifixion
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