I made this, I have forgotten And remember.The rigging weak and the canvas rottenBetween one June and another September.Made this unknowing, half conscious, unknown, my own. The garboard strake leaks, the seams need caulking. This form, this face, this life Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me Resign my life … Continue reading Between one June and another September.
poetry
Dispossession.
Well, hello again. It's been awhile. I've been stuck in a state of indecision and lethargy and not entirely certain which path to take. I've decided to take all of them. Simultaneously, or as close to that as the linear process of writing will allow. I'd tell you to buckle up, but you're already buckled, … Continue reading Dispossession.
Catalysts are made to be burned.
I do not want this. With every fiber of my being, I do not want to be here. The heat. The ants. The fucking gravestone that I refuse to maintain. I never bring flowers. I shouldn’t have to. I should not have to come here. For fuck’s sake. It’s hot and humid today; the marble … Continue reading Catalysts are made to be burned.
The Garden
En robe de parade.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
Levity.
I have no idea where I got this picture but I love it. But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid?The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body. … Continue reading Levity.
This is the way the world ends.
Datta: what have we given?My friend, blood shaking my heartThe awful daring of a moment’s surrenderWhich an age of prudence can never retractBy this, and this only, we have existedWhich is not to be found in our obituariesThe Wasteland, TS Eliot. I have a hard time writing about faith. I grew up Baptist, a pastor’s … Continue reading This is the way the world ends.
Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered.
Come, take my hand. What’s done cannot be undone.Lady Macbeth. Ophelia, Waterhouse. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” In grade school I wanted to be an actress, until my mom spent several panicked hours lecturing me on the odds against me ever becoming famous, the inability to support oneself on the … Continue reading Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered.
And let my cry come unto thee.
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool. “The surface glittered out of heart of light,And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.Go, go, go, said the bird: human kindCannot bear very … Continue reading And let my cry come unto thee.
Teach us to care and not to care
Blessèd sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden, Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit stillTS Eliot, Ash Wednesday Saint Eulalia, John William Waterhouse. This isn't the passage I'd initially planned on using, but there's a beauty to … Continue reading Teach us to care and not to care
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