blank verse

[fflo]

My darling girl, who's me, never again
shall I hate you for having not, afar,
heard well ahead what was afoot; or smelled,
a way's, what in the air; or felt, miles
away, the course the breeze had turned to blow.

I understand your not trusting me here,
so rarely have I got it right, and I
don't trust me either---yet do not detest
me when I keep my word imperfectly,
for this is what we can trust in ourself:  
imperfect.  Yes, forsooth, soothsay, it is
the opposite of that we cannot trust.

So let us now rejoice, in our sad way,
that we know nothing but that while we live
we fuck up fuck up fail to see and then
fuck up fuck up and fail to see again.

Comments

See, in the couplet at the end,

[fflo.livejournal.com]

the accent moves from the fucks to the ups. That's interesting.

Other than that, there's not much there, 'cept maybe the ahead and afoot. Unless you can somehow hear something about the vow. The calling of the self "darling." I'm not hearing it myself, the underneath, here days later, but I have the leg up of knowing where I was coming from.

More or less.

I'm at the library. Peter Alway is at another terminal, in the numbered section. I sent him a facebook message saying hello from terminal R, but either he's not logged in there or it's not inspired him to come visit. I see him here a lot. Sometimes when I'm walking into the library I wonder whether Peter Alway is in here. He's not Always in here. Just Alway. Which is almost Always.

I'm hungry. Wonder what I should do for dinner. I've hit the leftover hash brown casserole a little too frequently, maybe wanna not have that tonight. Lu's already been to the dog park. I could maybe take me to the cinema, but then I did spend a hunk of silly money today---the last of the yard sale cash. You wouldn't believe what I did with it if I told you. Oh, maybe you would. I don't believe what I did with it. But I'm glad I did anyway. The unlikeliness itself was worth at least half the price. Hell, that's what about 16/17 of it was I was buying. The rest was a novel form of self-care. Turn your head aside from the objections within. The surroundings and their history of alienation. The call of the debt. Etc.

Warm dark stones, smooth from moisture.

The vicariousness of another's unambiguous pleasure.

The I Did Not Know This Morning That This I Would Be Doing.


So.


Maybe I'll pick something up to take home, food-wise.

Something else brand new, maybe.

I am hungry yet not hungry. I want yet I don't want. I am in an in-between space. In more ways than one, baby.

Spaciness.   s p a c e   i   n e s s

Library closes in a few. Where are we going tonight, Walt Whitman? Or who is my lonely old courage-teacher? Maybe I need to do some drugs in the produce section, touch the book and feel absurd, turn myself out into the streets and be the star in my own movie, just exactly as I am.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

gods families anger ready anger pure anger clear anger caring easily caring without punishment feeling it is possible not to be punished for caring caring simply caring easily caring not so fucking deadly deeply yet not not caring not not caring at all and the gods those damn gods and the families the wanting the simple okay wanting the having the okay