sometimes i have to close the livejournal window because i can't bear to read what has been written. like, when i go through the parts of her diary when she faltered & failed. or when i go through my diary at all sometimes. my head turns into a hive of wasps, my heart crawls with the maggots that have infested the wound left there. but the m that is me is a venomous spider of great cunning, & he ensnares the drowsy wasps & devours them. & there are her nimble fingers, thimbled & needled, to stitch me shut. because there is now & there is the future, & that more than pays the oxygen debt of when she left me gasping on the pavement. & yeah, i'm going back to the girl who cheated on me & broke my heart into a million pieces, but fuck it; it is in the stars, in the astrology of pollen. & here is the thing. it isn't like she got away with it. i mean i was gone. gone never coming back. but dreams, machines, & accidents conspired. & then apparently i got heroic, i put aside my vaudville melodrama & violent paegant, just when she needed it. fuck her for needing it, but she did, & i was there for her. & i'd rather be there than anywhere else. & we took tenative steps before falling. though i didn't know what falling meant when i said it. i know falling better than anyone. falling from grace, falling from heaven, falling from a great height. but this was the other one again. the falling in love that you read about it. falling into bed, into each other's lives. & here we are & fucking god damn it, i've just about got all the trouble beneath me (i'm a bridge i'm a tower). & she told me she was in love with me. so i'm going to unclutter our graves; i'll quench the ghosts in cold buckets, my hands a milk nurse's, the ghosts infants'. here is the church, here is the steeple.
this is all true.
