Okay, we shall see if I can amble out a decent rantish blogging of sorts in the next...er...eight minutes of my break time alotted.

First up: New poems from last night.

Supped

bare is my end
of this oak table,
dreideltip patience
hovering
for the assault
of your dishes.

what was once-set,
now digested,
not a place
of your concerning.

a long-clotted stain
by the lathed leg
retreates
into shadow as sunset
sidles along
the cottoncrease
of an oxblood curtain.

neither its - nor fixture -
light reflects
faithfully
in my downcast eyes.

some speaking
of courses,
so coarsely.




Licked

you coarse sugar dwindled,
shrank at my tonguetip.
to dissolve these sweet things
i drown you, awash in saliva -
in the acid of all my tasting.




Alright, that's done.

Um, I don't have much to say. Today is better. However, I'm broke and need gas for the scooter. Yes - I'm so broke that I don't even have the three dollars required to fill my tank. Plus I have to run home before class and print off some homework, which I have yet to do still. But which I'll probably do once I get back to work.

And for my notorious SPF, I would just like to say, you have not been a jerk. I have been rather jerkish. Not just to you, but to every aspect of my life in general. And I know it's not PMS, because that was two weeks ago.

I think I'm being devoured by my writer, and when she roars into such prominence, I withdraw and lash out. For that, I am sorry.

It is hard. So much hardness, so many rocks I seem to notice in all the wide open paths. I had forgotten the difficulty of these things in longs months of misty nostalgia. In regret, and disappointment.

It is worth it. But it is a hard thing.






My problem is that I seem to do so well at running when things get hard. And I don't want to run, but it just seems to happen.


Hold me, even when I say I don't want you to. I need you so much, to keep me here. To help me see.