we can't just go on not talking about it
you know? nat sez she's been reading my blog.
well, she sorta sez it. and of course dancer's been
reading me too. once, ozel told me about treplaning
and i think a private blog's about the next best
to it. that is, if one wants to share every
detail. what really gets me is how long
it took for my frenz to find it.
now i've got this one. different but
the same. i think maybe white tree
found it first. i like her. and i'm sorry
i was not her friend like i was djs.

open letter to dj--
should you never find this know
i was thinking of you while you were
by the river, so glad you could become
reed and duck in this tough
time of life. you don't have to excuse

and promise, i understand how to sleep.
it's a wonder any of us remain together
in our own heads, the dispersal of pollen
in the sky, much less be able to collect
with these other frequencies. i'm used

to disappearance. justin tells many things
about travel, the heart of refugee. i have
known and abandoned many loves, mostly friends
we meet and dance for a while then pass on.

somehow it's my shame that brings me out of it.
the magnamity of forgiveness. no one wants that.
it feels false. tho we each have actually done it
let it go. let it go.

the virtuous kills. as does the vice.
now what is the politrix goin on at my work?

who cares? about that forgiveness shit.
if there is no crime there is nothiing to forgive.
let this be my mantra. would you help me
i will help you. this is the face we need
to turn to each other and the world. how else
to help them? they make me cry.
is that what they want to see? it enrages them.
as if these tears are manipulation. tereza cries
when stress gets to her. she forgets that she
too sins, her perfections are flaws shriven
onto me. her blade whittles and whittles
on her finger, she bleeds blame. who the fuck
cares, woman. we all have a life. we're
not gods we only have the same wills.

sigh....

what was i talkin about djuana?
where are you? i feels like
i've lost something b/c of stupidity
i need your slant eye. i feel like
you're fronding inward, curling tight
spriochet of liqudness. the river
moves you quietly. there is so much
burbling. you watch lily roots breathe
in bubble pop across the top of tensio
addled spider webs. these things
exist: punctuation, banks, a red beak
on an otherwise totally black duck.