Sunday, November 30, 2014
A Red Blush I Instantly Loved
The belief that we are something (good or bad, a poet or a seamstress, a sister or a lover) is different from the name we give that something. The latter is a matter of convenience - beautiful communication - but the former can screw us worse than those years of booze and sleeping in the park. Oh holy night indeed. I paused where the deer had kicked at the snow to get to fallen apples, the few remaining a red blush I instantly loved. Paused, too, where the hill crested near the old parsonage and looked out over the landscape that is shifting so fast it might as well be a dream. Headed back thinking if I wasn't so Zen I'd think that somebody ought to kick that dreamer's sorry ass. The puer in me is repulsed by the doggedness, the tedium, of writing, and also by my willingness to dog her for attention. Dignity avails the lonely nothing! A lot begins at the throat and then you have a decision to make, i.e., where to kiss next, and don't think I haven't got a preference. She said I was softer in person, as if my sentences were merely defensive, and I liked that, I held onto it, I "ate it up." Icicles never melt the way you plan but wordiness goes on forever. Distance and waiting are two parts of a holy tryptich. I never met a dog I didn't love or a dog owner I didn't judge. The altar is everywhere but it can take a while to see it, huh?