These are some poems written in October. I wrote and rewrote them a lot. I don't know if they have twenty sentences or not. I stopped counting.
I write because it brings order to my living. Tara Singh also says this but about A Course in Miracles. Bumpersticker idea: "If the poems you're writing aren't saving your life, then you aren't writing real poems." I'm not saying these are real poems, by the way. I'm saying I'm saved.
No, I'm kidding. Saved is a fantasy I write about elsewhere. But there is increasingly a kind of satisfying order. It has to do with communication. I remember as a homeless drunk visiting my parents' house and nobody was home so I sat on the back porch and listened to crows. For a little while I wasn't lonely, and my heart worked.
A crow cries
That was the poem by which I summoned her: the Queen of the Country of Turtles, who later agreed to marry me. Got sober, got my shit together, learned how to bake bread and and how to keep a dog alive, and married her. People ask what the secret is, it's easy. I painted it the day I met her.
Now I'm tethered to the only promise she asked me to make: never say aloud nor write the name of the Goddess by Whose grace we live. It was worth it: our little fire never goes out, no matter how many times we share it.
Anyway, the poems. On the blog they'll show up in reverse order - this here is the order I think they should be read in. But you do you :)
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