| March
3, 2006
Muses
Oh thank god! I'm free of that rejected feeling
whenever I hear someone talk about their wonderful religion. Now
I have my own! I've found a faith lying deep within my body, packed
deep inside the dark place behind the doorway in my womb. I told
you I was there. I've always tried to tell you. A confidence. A surety.
A set of definite answers. A glossary of faith. Sentient waiting,
I left your body. I left you all alone. You repelled me. I was
afraid. Of you. Of me. I'm still afraid of you.
The strands that
tie us are in the bowl (what is the real name for the chakra Gretchen
and I call the bowl?). Lava in my belly, the churning
of my spirituality. The journeying place and the destination.
The message and the peace.
Who knew I was so beautiful? Who knew
all my answers were true? I need to know words to talk about volcanos.
Folded smooth. Syntax flames and cities. Sanity
intoned. This is the rough game. The juniper in the bloom. February
stains the knowledge then was different from the need. A breath,
a studied glance, a frosty sign of need. The daffodils push
through the tempest tree. Slanting monuments, farthest edge.
The sharpest blade isdeep with the mystery.
Skeleton fitted tight with sinew. Contract, expand.
Eye socket, hip socket, bowl of ribs. Stacked sequentially over heart.
open into nearly disaster. Contract, expand. Delicate interweaving.
Flames and foaming water. Rib of dreams, the hollow bowl. Smell
the burning grass. Solemn, silent, and innocent of skin.
Thorns brace my slanting eyes. I feel the leaves
unleashing. A scar across my thighs. The lack of privacy is extreme.
Life tilts. An insignificant frame. No dilation or difference. Vigilance.
Tight strings around my throat. Tension withheld. Must talk to Bill
about tension. Inappropriate intuitions. Misplaced intuition.
No intuition at all.
Channels opened. Channels blocked. Sensitive
lack of discord. I want to put this behind me. I want this to be
mine. I don't want to bleed myself onto his skin. I don't
want this to be me. I can't be who I am. Poor little kid. Tight black
cords around my neck. Jesus, thank god for Bill. I mean, sure,
I'm okay without him, but no wonder I'm so attracted to him. The
same qualities that attracted me to Ben. Quiet, calm, steady. I grew
up surrounded by turmoil. Roiling waters, strings in my head that
tightened. Stilting forward movement. Pretension, tension,
tightened on a nail. Beginnings of desperate bitterness. This
is really fucked up.
Fading ventricles.Silence supercedes the living.
Mired, stifled. The sense of being subdued.
Do I care more about my partner than I do about
myself? No. It's about something else. First offered. Doing
something to avoid rejection. That's part but not all. I just don't
have many things to be picky about. I'm easygoing.
But how much is being easygoing, and how much is giving up myself?
Tethered flight feathers. Tendrils spare and seldom.
Tiles the thread, the symptom of the problem of time. Telepathic
frequencies. I have a chronic problem with fire. Self protection,
eggs among the trees. A feeling of hunger. Hunger for feeling good.
Startling revelations, the opposite of my thoughts. I run my hand
through her sturdy mane. She makes me think of wind. A mind
that caught on fire. Accommodating smile, telling bit of snow.
Tenuous connection. A frustrating piece of news. A time of sharing
bodies. A gestation that tastes like letting go. Palliative insanity.
The taste of letting go. Hysterical admissions.
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