thereby recovering
the work roomi am increasingly uncomfortable with how the worry and necessity of the physical world seem to positively choke every other thought i may have had today.
all yesterday, i was working on tidbits of a poem.
all this morning, money fucking stole it.
i am now left with a notepad of fractured words and phrases that were, at one quiet moment, very magical.
spiraled thoughts swirl around
how did i let this happen?
how did god let this happen?
because i sure as hell need someone to blame.
i am battered and bruised by
mr. george washington's profile
on green paper
all yesterday, i was working on tidbits of a poem.
all this morning, money fucking stole it.
i am now left with a notepad of fractured words and phrases that were, at one quiet moment, very magical.
spiraled thoughts swirl around
how did i let this happen?
how did god let this happen?
because i sure as hell need someone to blame.
i am battered and bruised by
mr. george washington's profile
on green paper
and now, despite the gracious resolution
and desperate prayers in the elevator
[despite convincing myself rather stoically that i no longer believe that the divine cares so much about the stupid details of life (because if so, why is my hair so flat - yes, i know...my infallible logic is stunning)]
and feeling saved indeed by one of my most favorite, cherished, and unique relationships
the crisis is semi-averted.
__________________________________
and desperate prayers in the elevator
[despite convincing myself rather stoically that i no longer believe that the divine cares so much about the stupid details of life (because if so, why is my hair so flat - yes, i know...my infallible logic is stunning)]
and feeling saved indeed by one of my most favorite, cherished, and unique relationships
the crisis is semi-averted.
__________________________________
but do i feel better? hardly.
i feel completely mangled, stabbed, embarrassed,
used (quite abominably)
and
tired.
utterly e.x.h.a.u.s.t.e.d.
not to mention the poetry is all gone.
and it is for this loss that i really do grieve most
poignantly.
most whole-heartedly.
i feel completely mangled, stabbed, embarrassed,
used (quite abominably)
and
tired.
utterly e.x.h.a.u.s.t.e.d.
not to mention the poetry is all gone.
and it is for this loss that i really do grieve most
poignantly.
most whole-heartedly.
for in my living
how could i have been so stupid,
i forgot to live.
stupid not because i was flippant with money,
but because i allowed the grapes of wrath
to steal and warp the bit of me that i happen to like.
la poésie
nothing can be worth that loss of soul.
(not when it was so recently recovered)
so today's aim is to retrieve it.
much like yesterday (which was quite a success, i might add).
to revisit the deflated scribbles
of poetry and prose i cast aside for bank statements and credit card balances
and give them life again
i will follow the example of a god i dare to trust
and breath bits of myself into fruition
only not from dust
but onto paper
thereby recovering.
6 comments:
i love you candy cane. did you know that i blog stalk you? i can't start my day until i've done so.
thanks for the confessions, but i admit, i feel it when you read - your warm soft eyes helping me to take it easy on myself.
i love you sister, cousin, friend.
do you understand, dear friend? comprends-tu? comprends-tu, chere, chere amie??
this is poetry sweeter yet than what you wrang from your soul yesterday. this grappling for the intangible, wrestling with demons seen and unseen for the beauty and ease of letters on paper, is poetry without words.
this entry, more than any other, brings tears to my eyes for its gritty, desperate, raw desire for ... for what? for everything we need but cannot always say.
i feel the yearning in your soul, and the branches in my lungs, my very ALVEOLI, stretch toward the sun that is hidden in the grey and sometimes unyielding sky. y'know how you can get sun on your skin even on a cloudy day? because the rays are reaching you even though it looks overcast?
may this be the nature of your inner environment today. it feels like shit, but when you wake up, you realize there is new color pooling in your collarbone.
i don't know what else i can say. much more, but it wouldn't really get at what i'm trying to convey. so i'll blow the love from my palm like so many seeds and trust that they take root in your soul.
love,
she.
favorite part of subsequent gtalk discussion from your comment, mz she.
"am struggling to keep sobs down.
how funny i must look at my desk
eating meaty chili, tissue brown with makeup."
i cannot explain how you have stabbed and soothed me today.
Dear, dear. Do you not know that every word you type into this blog is utter poetry in and of itself?
But i feel your clinging to the reminder of yesterday's freely flowing emotion and wondering why today your soul is so different? Just a mere glimpse of what seemed so fluid and tangible with the ink still looking a little wet.
Often I have these glimpses of a painting. It's usually when I am waking up in the morning. In my sleepy state, I half dream these elaborate beautiful images - tracing their complexity and discovering their quirks. But, by the time I fully wake and pull out my pencil and pad, they are gone. And anything I try to scribble down is like a child trying to replicate a Van Gough.
Oh, to have immediate access to emotion on demand...
my favorite excerpt from same gchat:
"may i peruse your bookshelves...?"
also, my horsey snort.
good morning!
Post a Comment