terra pee

everyday i write about it
life or something
like it. how can i still
want this boy who exasperated, used
and rarely learned?

it was the way we combined
in each other's arms. chemistry
on a volatile network.

did i like he found me sexy?
oh yas but i knew that was due
to his hormones. his love.
love is myopic at best.

so i never believed him.
will never believe anyone i'm too
damaged to think of self
in terms of desirability. jesus
helped me with that. i would love
you if your legs looked like
a seabed. implications of the ugly.

i like tawdry. i like graceland.
so he said. which makes me feel like
dolly parton. which said is more
than he deserved. not the second boy
the one who loved me, but the first
the one who loved himself. the last
one i loved, the first one i love.

my daughter can't understand it.
how could i still care about someone
who hit her? well, he didn't beat her up.
and she tried him and me for 20 months
that's a long time to hold
your temper.

i don't care enough to let him
live with me, ever again as long as i
have children with me. look at me
leaving open possibilities like split
grapefruit. as if he won't grow.
as if his love were true and lasting.
well, it is true. just like mine
for him. but it won't last. faded bruises
an all that...

and i think his dad will brainwash him again.
so that he survives in some kinda kafka ish
breach of what he wanted to be vs what dad wanted.

or who knows. i still think of him. still want
to talk to him. no one i knew liked him
or understood where he came from, except me.

i have an ache welling up at the absence.
he did not abandon me. nor i him// the universe
drove us apart. why? perhaps that's
the question i need to the tarot.

perhaps we need this trial by fire.
the seperation. perhaps that's the gist
of why this happened. we need to know
if our love is strong enough to survive
his growth, my decline. i believe i already
know that answer. so does he. and they
are opposed. the muse wanted to use me

before he and i met but i was always
whining about love. so she gave it.
with all its burdens. as if a child.
and rilke, she gave me that too.


which do you want.
is it merely me getting beyond
the physical? i think not. many ppl
thot him unattractive. he cultivated
that. as do i. i want them to see
the real me. as he did. which is why
i felt he was my soulmate. truly?
read that in the present tense.

but he wants to be a star, wants the things
youth craves. this is his beginning
journey. i hope he realizes this. prolly won't.

if he writes me, he must write me first.
i write him daily but he won't see them


perhaps he is to be my muse, the embodiment
of absence. the thing, lost and looking for.

mo pot.







*






the day wears on
without your arms to count
on at the end
of it. what good
all this suffering then?

you might see me
in a leaftrill. the hills
of pine needles you gather
with his rake. scoop them up,
a hairshirt to wear. let each
prick, unrequited,
remind you of the thousand
between us. little invasions
of cling. let them serve to remind you
this is not the way
to divinity

why am i cain? where are the sons
of abel then?

but away your bible if you can.
i will weave you a new mythology
one where abel is the murderer
as it should be, o killer of beasts
raised only for sacrifice. is that not
the face of this world today?

the paradox is the making!
did we do this ourselves did i do this
to be expelled from the ghost of eden?


we are perversity. that is y
we even exist. we occupy both poles
at the same time. that is the ontological
truth of desire. i desire a clean
house, if a bit disorderly. hands washed
dishes draining. if abel had not been
the sacrifice we would have to worship corn
instead of warfare. dn't you see?

i would rather worship corn!
stalks rising to wind then burst
into frayed silk, seed gathered
in our bosom. a village of living.

that must be the new vision.
but how to make it? with the violence
of the old? this is your demon.
the antichrist would not rebel against
the moneychangers. he would wash
their feet. he would bare his throat.
he would ask to be left alone to grow
as he would.

you sound less divine than enslaved.

we all serve. we are all served

you have all the answers. you always have
to be right.

i do not want to be right. i want
to know if others feel this way.
if so, why can we not navagate along
the stream this way? is it impossible
to have a choice. do we muddle a divinity
by being waterbugs?

i have to think about this.
i don't want to think
about this. why can't i hold love
in my arms again.

it is the streaming, i am the river
it is the current- you, the electron:
interchangeable except in the position
of space when observed. it would not hold//
the half life of radon.

i am the biggest thief

we are all theives.
that is the core of being.
we must forgive our theft.



there is no property.
imagine freedom