The word obsessions often comes with negative connotations. It’s not healthy to have obsessions (think OCD, hoarders, or stalkers). But where would we be without them?
We listened to talk shows
chatted about acid rain,
flirted a little.
cannot navigate. To slough off:
like skin cells, turn from a fine
powder, into into earth into sand
into skin oil and light. Burn.
A perfected balance achieved in sleep
can sometimes twist up through wakefulness
its delicate wire and weight contraption.
A child-like willingness today
was, only yesterday, an embryo
in the womb of my resistance.
herbs bought in the throes of
gourmet dinner clubs now shriveled in their
glass bottles, a litmus for the total
disinterest in anything to do with food.
seeking a sign
that has survived nothingness
a lost toy
or simple earthen potsherd
I would have said, My Lord,
let me take your temperature, & occasioned a sonnet
sequence premiered at court. What a tragedy he died
so young that I have only his portrait to covet.
Right from the jar with a fork I suck, beet juice dripping. I’m desperate for redness, want it on my tongue, inside me, outside me, paint for my warrior face, for my warrior place, addicted to those blood red days, drunk with missing those blood red days.
“All meals should be breakfast,” the Dark See proclaimed, squirting an avalanche of ketchup across her Devil With a Blue Dress omelette. She cut a violent swath through her meal. Chewing, the Dark See pointed out the window with her fork. “You see that guy across the street?” she said through a mouthful of egg, “The one dressed like a rockabilly Roy Orbison? He used to be a trick.”
It’s a warm day in late May, just perfect, and I’m as hopeful about this outing as I am desperate: the two of them, the three of us, we’ve always squabbled. Wrangled is probably a better word. Over the decades there have been huge eruptions, and long, siege-like silences, along with a great deal of routine sniping, and, though peace has occurred, it’s not the norm.