Saturday, January 23, 2021

An Error that My Life Was

Smattering light where the hills break for Route Nine and the river. Going back to close the door, waiting to see if it will close. Prayer life, hair shirts, hot sex.

How fast the tide comes in and how fast it flows backwards.

How lost I am in me lost in you lost in you gazing at me.


Light hay in my arms going back to the horse pasture, slipping a little on ice under the hemlocks. Pissing later on ice under the hemlocks.

Coffee going down slow, amen amen.

The computer perched on a stack of the Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, this nod at scholarship, that dive into the nineteenth century from which I never quite surfaced.

Her hand tracing the shape of my erect cock on my gut, not touching it until I say breathy and hungry, please.

The space between touch and what is touched.

Laing's Knots. The darkness in a prism. How when I told that story years ago to Jasper a shadow crossed his face and I realized I'd made an error, that my life was the effect of an error.

Remembering fireflies, Christmas ornaments. Lake snow. Letters from Denise.

Living without Denise.

Never quite surfacing. Never quite stopping.

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