Saturday, August 7, 2010

Unattended Museums

Other times we wake to the dogs, especially the older one, wanting to get out. Don't shit where you eat. Don't buy antique tractors for investment purposes only. In other words, love.

Latin. People named Paul. A woman came by the other day with a pamphlet about Jesus but said when I opened the door, "It's too hot to even try" and we both laughed. Walking the dog beneath summer stars.

Feels underwater. Muddled but soft. Latin roots can be instructive in a kind of "I know more than you do" way. Seen another way, the Big Dipper is actually a baby carriage.

Chronophobia is the new me! A rock painted white to remind us where the calf was buried. The intercession of desire where memory was hoping to lead. A ladle seen a new way.

Talking after about the summer of fleas, the summer of no sleep. Unattended museums in which even indifference nods off. Imagine no Dakota. That love, compounded.

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