The Void with a Good Woman

How did you learn you were different?

Miles to go indeed.

I wake before the sun is up, make coffee, go to the hayloft and sit quietly in darkness with the one who is everywhere.

John Bell, my god.

Ten years writing haiku by hand in purple ink now how much do you love me.

We cannot change what we feel, this is a gift not a curse.

A spiritual classroom, the price of admission to which was either one hand or both eyes, guess what I chose.

Deep down - no matter what else we name it, no matter what context we put it in - the reason I am writing and you are reading is that we are lonely and we are not yet ready to be whatever is not lonely.

The thief I am, the liar I am, the lover I am.

Do you remember making love against the door in my grandmother's house, do you remember biting my neck, do you remember - how could you remember - how I could not sleep that night (was this when the insomnia began) and do you remember - you must remember - breaking up on the long drive back to Vermont.

We are not alone when we dance, even when we dance alone.

Sunlight on the last of the violets, may I forget everything, may I learn how to.

Notice the ones in your living who personify ideals you admire - perhaps long for - and modify your living according. 

I praised his kindness - his clear intention with respect to extending it - and he bowed a little, he smiled a little.

Many revolutions are yet to happen, let's not kid ourselves. 

What does thought want.

It's going to hurt a little but not for long, this was the promise.

Leaning out over the void with a good woman, there is no other way for a man like me. 

The one who is never not naked.

Notice how the horizon is always there - you never reach it - it is always perfectly distant, exactly as if you were creating it, saying to yourself "I need a body and I need a world and both must be comprised of limits."