Sunday, January 16, 2011

April 26

"The inner wagings of biology and heart, reason and instinct. I detest my attraction to beautiful faces and bodies... how they can pull out of me more attention, laughter, focus... and tell me that beauty does not fade. ha. We are all promised by our lust that the taste of beautiful skin will satisfy our lonely bodies. It does not matter how many books, parables, films and songs I hear and see and read about the fleeting dangers of choice by physical attraction... we will still war with its silver tongue. I sometimes wish to be blind and content as an island and straight as an arrow and married. strikingly handsome. or fit. or fat and jolly. or a cow in another pasture, mocking me by paying no attention across the fence. I say sometimes, some more than others, some not really at all. I just hope to be good. A good boy with the talents in this box clutched in my arms."

Something I wrote

Something I wrote while in love with an impossible love and reading Rumi:

covered mystic poetry from a desert man
that removes the shape of
the soul, dissolving
self into The Friend,

I am possessed
marching possessed
in the mirror I hold
to set side by side
self and other and
skin - bone - breadth - hair
skill - speech - heat - hunger
pull and ignore and conquer
slave slave slave
slave slave and
not a bond-servant to

dip into mystic river,
free me. freedom. or
give me, and let it be dry.
or teach me how to
love, or what to love, or
break me, Spirit, in the Texas soil
like my sister

and sew me again and kill
me and wait, in white snow cover
for spring. or something else.