It's true I fell in love with someone bad for me but half the heroines in your literature do that: Helen, Eco, Io, Agave, all of them, it was heavensent
And you feel like an occupied territory screaming change!, father, change!
And then when he did, the reforms annoyed me
He became a sloppy analogy of himself, falling into a painting of himself, pacing the cage of his own energy, inert with goodness and so diligent about honesty the word lost its purpose, became too common to win off the ongoing carapace of irony, or leave it for territory beyond the treasonous universe we swear on our mothers we're here, because they are still real to us, the pucker of my superstition still touches the nimble womb it formed in, and I'm in church, trying to understand why I'm in church when prayer is a way of being if love seems everywhere like verses in the service of emptiness, which we have always wanted so intensely that it could never trust us with where or when-- you're an informant and I am, too. We both know about how we both know about it but being cryptic is really pretty nauseating so quick picture richard prior singing my old flame to a room full of newborns on a rainy evening under pulsating cameras that rub the tears off his cold sweat as shields, we get better and better
There is a space where you thought you would be, but which you refuse to grab hold of. You save its life every day. You love that space
