Under the Covers

Talking to J. the other night while walking - the courthouse on Main Street obscuring sunset - I said I was in love with two women at once and he said very seriously, only two - how do you do it? When you think in terms of reducing something to Heaven then life is pretty good. Stars in the whiskey, wagon wheels turning, and begonias on my mind. Somebody upstairs looks like you. Likes you? Stray dogs make me wish I was rich, otherwise being poor just sort of keeps passing like a breeze, a season, like a homily when there's all that stained glass to admire. Those moths sure do love your shoulders, let me kiss them off you into flight, okay? Funny how we keep thinking of ourselves as attractive when really we're just poster boys for entropy. Shall we dim the lights, draw the shades? What happens under the covers never stays under the covers. You feel bad for Judas, want to put your arms around him, which when you think of it is pretty much what Jesus would do. Getting dexterous with Husserl in anticipation of undressing her, or making the case for undressing her, or at least being brave enough (faithful enough?) to get to where undressing her is possible. The prayer takes care of itself as always, otherwise it wouldn't be a prayer but a negotiation. Oh please. My peas or yours? I hope there's hummingbirds in your suburban midwestern poustinia. The cold cell gets colder, and mice took all the crumbs. The breaking-down monk who from time to time you bless can barely remember "amen," can only narrowly see a way out to you.