the way i get closer to publication is by getting closer to my desk and the keys and the screen through my eyeglasses. by getting closer to the endless hours of playful work. mute the environment as much as i can. endless other hours of readying myself spiritually to be up to the process.
Correspondence was not much fun anymore. i was lucky if i got a card in the mail. emails made me nervous because there were so many awaiting reply. the days of receiving long letters penned in script by hand in ink on someone’s personal stationery were over. i had a thought. if i took the time to write letters the old way again, bypassing text and email and chat and video, and even bypassing phone, would I get a response in kind? and then might time turn back for us and write our lives the way we once wrote them, when we wrote long missives on personal stationery with silver trim and painted envelopes, hanging sideways over our elbows, quietly playing with each letter, slowly, conscientiously by scripted hands, young and rolling in ink.
finite articulated outlined forms
are no longer sacred. they may be one thing today
and another, tomorrow.
our love is murky we cannot see the bottom.
the light takes on form, passing through.
my love for you is imperfect. overcast.
it never changes.
we can touch the sky.
The news cannot inform me anymore. I will avoid it like a beggar won’t let up. It wants and takes and leaves me feeling rather odd and empty. I must protect my heart and strike the ritual down. This is the only headline.
we are possessed with an urgency to make the moment the only place to be. there, there, all the senses are emboldened and urgency gives way to immediacy. you won’t require any further entertainment.
I am on a mission to find reality. I won’t find it in my phone or in the dark. I cannot find it alone, nor in a crowded park. I step into my jeans my boots my leather jacket pulled around my hoodie. Here behind the wheel, eyes open and coffee steaming at my lip, waiting for this old train to pass through town, exhaust smoking in the cool morning air. A smile pulls over my face cuz I know I am real with you. Yesterday we ran. Today I’m gonna break out the draft of my book and mark it up somethin’ fierce. What is real? We are. We are real.
i only got one life to live and my part’s crestfallen off my head, my eyelids hanging half-mast tonight. my thoughts are no longer disorganized or petty or obsessed or compulsed, you see, i only got one life to live so i’m takin’ a train to faux hawk city, honey, and i won’t be comin’ back without you, no, i won’t be comin’ back all alone.