Today, I’m at the freehand on Ohio (19 E), feeling fortunate that I can leave
then to
somewhere to sleep the same night
then to
my need to rush the gauntlet where people (are meant to) battle to meet (but ultimately fall short of) my lofty expectations
then to:
negative ruminations behind
and a mind to be sure when this happens next time…
I’ll end the war in a loft
some place more than just “somewhere to sleep the same night”
If Calypso could keep Odysseus ashore
and stare at oceanic expanses knowing everything before the horizon belonged to her
Could clasp her arms around the breastplate of the warrior of the world
If Odysseus could gaze at her holding peace
at black hole sun, spattered gold in shining shadow
and still gaze
–
If Calypso could imagine Odysseus was hers without poisoning the sands with leaden tears,
then refreshed and tirelessly agile,
I can keep you from turning outward your shadow heart.
From telling nonsense lies to my canvas ears.
–
So will I sit betwixt Calypso’s legs as she threads seashells into the curls–between my tendrils and coils.
And she can tell me where Odysseus went wrong.
If Calypso can beat down doubt of why he did not stay
Then we can say you drowned at sea.
The scent in those leaves is yours
The heat of the tangle we share
The hit of this tango we’ve skipped
Long lost in the jungle we wait
Four limbs to be strangles in “yes”
Head light from the toggle and twish
I’ve longed to be headstrong and wrong
Five eyes to be open and melt
You’re mine from the tangle of trust
Knee-deep–
I’m yours from the break of the day
Put out what you’ve set ablaze.
Utopia was real
At one time
It was not new
Was not unlikely
Was deserved
At one time
Till then, again
Endure this hell
In bed without solace of rest
Each sand of the day falling
In poring over the text of ages.
Like bed-light under comforter
Many moons ago.
Still a similar warmth of spirit
And text of ages in hand:
A letter.
From father to long lost love
Not mother.
Proof of an everlasting trial.
Secrecy by the fault lines
Which brought forth death
In the form of children.
A text for the ages.
