satisfaction, that it does not matter how I forget.
nails in a coffin
white on a shoe.
small-minded gender self, be smaller
still. The rest of You
will thank you later.
reminding me the woods are quiet
for others. Others who I desire
to preserve, their habitats,
my movements, the
freezer filling
with game.
Is heaven, the torn bits
at the end of His hands
twisting the tube of empty,
refracted fooling to That is so
pretty, how it falls into place in the light?
Collide the scope with subtle shades
of blended makeup on a face and lids,
and cleaner scents in the dens of pleasure.
Until then,
You do not know me.
cuts in squares the framed
or stapled cell
self Her
cellar vegetables
and attic sky
lighted in her lighting
as though
lives and light depend
on a candle,
and square,
stapled
canvas sold, after paint
and salt posed as blood;
some men and even women,
hoist so much can-
vas unpainted, rigged from pole
to hold that mast, one or several
bear the vessel's blood cargo
sick, and stayed in the
elements of desiring
sold, hold, land and home free
Had we only known how to paint,
and market the man and woman
without complaint and thievery,
we might never have been now co-meant in speaking how we are
free to pitch canvases that we dream
are sails.
You are only enemy--
at some point
You are only playing
in my blood.
some
are only
some
are only
my.
at You at You
in point enemy point
playing blood.
You know what You are
doing with this gray
matter.
scrub your pots,
they'll never come back.
is a man
wanting what he thinks
is a woman
being what she knows
must be
necessary for security,
incantation contortions
vexing our
sexuality dis-
respecting a man
a woman self-
respecting them-
selves, one sexuality
residing prehensile
within noise
eternity today.
The other part
controlling us
lay me down
on the floor crying
until I was still
enough to see the complex
structure of the cob
web stout;
built by the invisible-
at-home guest who, between
some recent day ago and my
cheery old hope
Of the rusted verdigris, long tin,
once used for potatoes, then kindling,
then rocks outside, then brought in again,
some recent day ago when the fireplace
was cleared from winter, and after the larger
guests were heard singing there; this invisible,
fragile, non-member of our consciousness came,
and stout, complex, extravagant bearer of light
and dust, built this cob
web that saw, from the other part
controlling, maybe, my lying down
on the floor crying, until I was
still enough to see the view.
move she makes recalling
her spooked leaping before her
cry before her painful illness on the floor
again today
She sleeps in a box in the hall and
she throws up there and we clean it up
and she goes back sleeping again in
my familiar old accessories too remembered
to remove.
For as long as she
continues to live our Agatha
gray, I pay attention to each one
I see of her bearing weight
on her lithe skeleton that is-was
so lithe as it was-was so long ago
and again, I wonder how many lives,
this sweet pet who saved everything
in her living as herself fighting as herself
grooming and overmuch as herself nervous
child cat I pay attention to our children
grown and no longer still longer ever will be
their own lives How many lives will they choose
to fight with groom through nervous overmuch (I hope not)
and look again (my oven is not a magic
wand) at the recipe for
butter cookies
this time planning
to pay attention
to every
second
turning the water
pressures to centipede
grass; noiseless spinning
by the red painted handle
that is removed and kept
on the console we purchased
for an anniversary years
ago; we keep it out, because
the sun and centipede, hardy though
they are, forget that water is
in the pipes, ductwork of
focusing our memories
on the 80% we are constantly forgetting.
ii.
turning water
pressures centipede
grass. spinning
by handle
that kept
on purchased
for years
ago; because
the though
they is
in of
focusing memories
on forgetting.
around
arresting
ardor
acceptant
asking
anticipating
another
Always
answers
audible,
Adieu! Awake! Advance! altars
bound
beside
bestowing
better
Bethel's
beset,
basking
banquets
beneath
belief,
Beloved baring, bearing blessing born.
around bound
arresting beside
ardor bestowing
acceptant better
asking Bethel's
anticipating beset
another basking
Always banquets
answer beneath
audible belief
Beloved Adieu! baring Awake! bearing Advance! blessing altars born.
her full 5 foot 8 inches lessened in the straightening
of her hair, knees bent, speaking to the air, inhaling
the short whiteburning she had lit, the parcher of her skin,
exposed to her closed self on the stairs, sitting alone,
old in her someone else’s jean shorts, strange to her
who had long stopped seeing what she was, who she ever
was, if she ever knew.
her of the exposed old who was
straightening inhaling skin, alone, her ever was
full 5 foot 8 inches lessened in the
her hair, knees bent, speaking to the air,
short whiteburning she had lit, the parcher of her
to her closed self on the stairs, sitting
in her someone else’s jean shorts, strange to
had long stopped seeing what she was, who she,
if she ever
full her short to in had if
the air, her sitting to she, ever
5 foot 8 inches lessened in hair,
knees bent, speaking to the whiteburning she had lit,
the parcher of her closed self on the stairs,
her someone else’s jean shorts, strange
long stopped seeing what she was,
who she
5 knees the her long who
hair, lit, stairs, strange was, she
foot 8 inches lessened in bent,
speaking to the whiteburning she had
parcher of her closed self on the
someone else’s jean shorts,
stopped seeing what she
foot speaking parcher someone stopped
bent, had the shorts, she
8 inches lessened in
to the whiteburning she
of her closed self on
else’s jean
seeing what
8 to of else’s seeing
in she on jean what
inches lessened
the whiteburning
her closed self
inches the her
lessened whiteburning self
closed.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009 at 4:02pm
Much is made of Soul Mates. These words are spoken to explain why two different people have a satisfying, free, open life commitment to one another; an affinity, an easy-loving and easy forgiving relationship.
It is also used to explain, dismiss and console an uncomfortable committed relationship, or a poorly behaved one.
Until this morning, I thought there might be something in the notion of a Soul Mate. I don't think so anymore.
This morning I sorted Jay's washed socks. I have not been faithful to sort Jay's socks, but this morning I did, and I noticed in the bright sunlight that two socks, very similar, were not an exact match. Poor Jay! I thought, thinking of him walking in a pair that might have been slightly, inexplicably uncomfortable in his shoes. The difference was negligible, but just perceptible enough to rouse my curiosity. Had I just matched a nearly matched pair, or is this sock just dryer wrung? I sorted it out. Two identical mismatched pairs.
I think when we hear and say Soul Mate, we really mean "easy" and "obvious." Is that romantic enough for us?
A Sole Mate is romantic. One person to me and for me every single day, and I for and to that One person every single day. The romance of a committed relationship is the theory that it is willing to be folded in a drawer and taken on the other one's feet in the other one's shoes, if that is the shape of Tuesday or Friday or 2003 or 2040—or one's lifetime and a graveside.
The adventure of a committed relationship, though, is the FACT of romance as a sock drawer. Unsorted, socks are very frustrating and imperceptibly wrong or obviously laughable.
Without love, the other one's feet and one's own feet, become too pedantic for attention.
Measuring personalities and thickness of life experiences, temperaments redundant on purpose, reasoning types of weave and what shift of worker or parent wove the foot beds and tall or short legs of the individual sock and pairing—this is nonsense. We don’t match, even from the primest of pumps, pups, historic or histrionic pairings. That there are patterns does not necessitate perfections and seam ripping. Patterns of behavior and understanding of upbringings should bring into play a divine quality—compassion, not control.
Forget "divine quality" being ours to bring into play. WE do not have compassion. Patterns of behavior, and understanding of upbringings (we *do* understand much), may bring us to the Good Lord, to His-Her understanding of our sorts, and now.
This brings in over-tones of gender sorting, and I am not able to speak to that, though I understand heartache and science in the intuitive sense.
Still, we sort our socks or we don’t, but we are not born with a romantic excuse not to. Personality, psychic bruising or sexual awareness do not necessitate flip-flops and cursing the makers of shoes and socks and drawers. It is my husbands and my committed feet, in our mouths or not, that fill the socks of us. The adventure is the misadventure, the haphazard daze of being human, the brazen intelligence of God's mercy through feet of clay.
God’s loving will sorts it out, not our wills. We call our self-will Love, and agree to stop or stand so close to the other foot that THE PERSON of we gets nowhere, falling, angering the other's willingness to be a foot.
A Sole Mate is able to stand alone, or rise alone, or wear flip-flops until the socks are clean and sorted. Sole Mates can go barefoot, get blisters and pedicures. And a committed relationship is not all about feet of clay. A loving will is glory.
It seems plausible and downright wise to agree with the notion that poor relationships are simply poorly matched individuals, poorly made socks, economic shortages, and so, obviously, bad decisions. Especially when both are good socks, hardly worn if taken individually, good for puppets, even ... or throwing away. They were once matched, put together, and covered the feet of THE PERSON who got places together once, not thinking of comfort, but getting there together ONE PERSON.
ONE PERSON is a Sole Mating of two souls. Socks wring and dry and toss and are lost and then show up all linty in the garage, or the move. So much shows up in the move. And pairs are found and taken upstairs in the basket or woven bag to be sorted and folded, comfortably put in the sock drawer for the feet of the loved.
Comfort is in the sorting—the caring to sort—and time in the drawer when your hands want to be showing off the wedding ring.
Sole Mates are mysteries of God, His Son in the morning on a day you did not expect to be so sunny.