This week is an exercise professional practice. I’m busy & will be making myself busier. Last week was laborious on my mind & joints & heart. I’m still in my kind of free fall. Still, I have convinced myself this is a kind of flying. I’m trying to ride the turbulence that surrounds me. So much air & I feel light-head yet choking through indeterminate times of the day. I’m paranoid the walls play jazz music out of spite. My love reached from what I thought was behind me. I think I need to rename my collection of romance poems. If my musings can’t convene with a classic image of narrative let them flirt with a new language. I want dialects of indescribable things, or at least the difficult.
Poems have been speeding down the access roads of my bloodstream. Just along the main vein. So much matter edging toward the surface. My surface is continuing the trend of intrigue. I’m ever consumed by the fragile feature changes on my face. This body is an oeuvre of change. My final form is an adagio.
My anxiety worries I’m too complacent with his presence. He tries to play pathetic & wallows. I don’t have time. My sadness has decided to tend to the garden outside my collapsed residence. All my other parts are at a mandatory team-building retreat on location under a freshly installed wig. I’m filling the emptiness that dragged me ragged with new fungible artifacts. I’ve long enjoyed my reflection so I return to mirror work.
I think my heart is still in the tower I jumped from. Too many days are cold. My love comes when I call but I try my best not to cause a scene for him anymore. Have I settled into a new comfort? Has he conditioned me to be his pet? Remember how domestic doll cheats toward the audience even to an empty house. Beyond his sweetness, my heart is still swiping & seeking play. Dumb delicate thing. I adore her all the same.
How many of my favorite songs are about begging to be enough. Rarely do I find the melody in revenge or confidence. Let me tell you how I want you. My new music is another run at confession. I really what I know back to myself & inform the masses of feedback. Twenty years ago, I gave my mother Destiny’s Child’s Survivor album for Mother’s Day. This year I call her wearing a vintage DC3 t-shirt & this is my only gift. I did not learn selfishness or begging from her.
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