Light rain all afternoon, somehow making me think of choir lofts, practicing in them. Daisies going to seed, let us pray. When you drive a long time and end up nowhere, what then?
Need vs. want, both under the rubric of desire. I read and reread The Secret of Skull Mountain around age seven, longing to camp that way - what way exactly - and knowing somehow I never would, even then I was out of time. Apparently only of us was allowed to be real and it had to be me, sorry.
And was there, in the end, another side? Far up Fairgrounds Road coming to a crushed turtle being picked at by crows, i.e., this again. Slivered moon behind the church steeple.
Surfacing. I don't mind being the man you leave, standing alone is part the deal, how else do we learn the lessons of solitude. Disputes about texts are never about the text, what are they about?
Oh Frank O'Hara won't you please take your work more seriously next time? Jennifer asks when I was last at Dad's grave and the answer is I don't recall. Living religiously.
I let three things go in the river and the Lord allowed me to become happy. Maternal testimony many years later. Her sundress slips a little, her thin brown shoulder fills with sunlight, my god.
Where do the bees go? I made promises I was not allowed to keep, and nothing prepared for me the aftermath.