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aslantout of a stem that scored the hand
i wrung it in a weary land
.....
from the many-venomed earth
first a little, thence to more
he sampled all her killing store
.....
i tell the tale as i heard told
mithridates, he died old.
(ae housman, a shropshire lad: just because i've got the letter m on the brain, m as in maybe: m as in maybe not: m as in [un]mentionables: m as in mithridates.)
more and more talk on the phone last night. again i am spared goodbyes because the phone cuts out; sometimes it rings again, sometimes not. i can never expect anything, appropriately. maybe i don't want to expect anything. i don't want to want anything, just that occasional embrace.
but the unidentified caller. the one that doesn't won't can't call anymore. that's the one i resist. i pull back i stumble back from the maw. there's that moment of silence into which i speak my hellos, and i strain to hear if it is from that certain telephone. that infinite momentary possibility.
j says on the phone: but don't let this new distraction become another jr. the sick pining and unfulfilled suspension. i think about this. i think about this a lot. i don't think it is. i have to think about it.
i keep thinking i should send a's number to p. they can start a club.
i'm not allowed to say anything. i keep saying it. it keeps hurting. even though it's the passive-agressive nonsense that gets to me, the talk of blood and knives that breaks me down during the long empty unfluid day, it still hurts. brittle humor, brittle anger this morning. contemplating forche's walls with glass slivers. walls designed to carve out the kneecaps. i dream of nothing. i wake grasping for what is not there. the word manic is thrown about like confetti. a liberal sprinkling of hand-me-down moods. words that creep out [startled birds] when we try not to say them. the many nuances of blue.
avere una paura blu: to have a blue mood. literally: to have a blue fear.
l's email: i hide behind words often. j's phonecall: i am silly to fall into this hole again and again. l's letter: if i look for faults i will find them. i am reminded of my worth even though that cuts me. what to say? what is true is true. if i spend my time hating myself it is impossible to be in love.
i negate the flow of words that tries to break into me. i make connection impossible. but i let sorrow back in a little at a time. e' la spina che si e' conficata nella pelle : it is the splinter that the skin settles around.
i wrung it in a weary land
.....
from the many-venomed earth
first a little, thence to more
he sampled all her killing store
.....
i tell the tale as i heard told
mithridates, he died old.
(ae housman, a shropshire lad: just because i've got the letter m on the brain, m as in maybe: m as in maybe not: m as in [un]mentionables: m as in mithridates.)
more and more talk on the phone last night. again i am spared goodbyes because the phone cuts out; sometimes it rings again, sometimes not. i can never expect anything, appropriately. maybe i don't want to expect anything. i don't want to want anything, just that occasional embrace.
but the unidentified caller. the one that doesn't won't can't call anymore. that's the one i resist. i pull back i stumble back from the maw. there's that moment of silence into which i speak my hellos, and i strain to hear if it is from that certain telephone. that infinite momentary possibility.
j says on the phone: but don't let this new distraction become another jr. the sick pining and unfulfilled suspension. i think about this. i think about this a lot. i don't think it is. i have to think about it.
i keep thinking i should send a's number to p. they can start a club.
i'm not allowed to say anything. i keep saying it. it keeps hurting. even though it's the passive-agressive nonsense that gets to me, the talk of blood and knives that breaks me down during the long empty unfluid day, it still hurts. brittle humor, brittle anger this morning. contemplating forche's walls with glass slivers. walls designed to carve out the kneecaps. i dream of nothing. i wake grasping for what is not there. the word manic is thrown about like confetti. a liberal sprinkling of hand-me-down moods. words that creep out [startled birds] when we try not to say them. the many nuances of blue.
avere una paura blu: to have a blue mood. literally: to have a blue fear.
l's email: i hide behind words often. j's phonecall: i am silly to fall into this hole again and again. l's letter: if i look for faults i will find them. i am reminded of my worth even though that cuts me. what to say? what is true is true. if i spend my time hating myself it is impossible to be in love.
i negate the flow of words that tries to break into me. i make connection impossible. but i let sorrow back in a little at a time. e' la spina che si e' conficata nella pelle : it is the splinter that the skin settles around.
