Saturday, July 30, 2011

mcdxlvi

Aren’t you cute?

If only at first I could have remembered
the word clever.  Nothing seems to find its way
through the fog of exhaustion.  Except this
swollen ankle I’m getting most evenings
(note to self: a] get checked again for
diabetes; b] you’re not a hypochondriac
except on purpose; like in character).

Your secret handshake has a funny way
with words.  Too cute.  Plus I
spent all night translating the Greeks.

To quickly move from one thing to the
next.  This can be a nice diversion when
giving a sermon.  Unless repeated too often.
It’s a shell game.  You can’t lead a man to the
right walnut without teaching him how to get there
(which requires learning how to forget, right?).

Many things.  I threw myself a birthday party
Saturday night.  Lots of folks danced until 5:30am.
Most with various intoxicants.  Then hand-in-hand
up my hill.  Which was the highlight of my walk,
if not my late 30s.  Or the magic replay in my
head says we’re really a couple.

The lovely talk on the sofa makes it a boyfriend
collage.  These things make a lot of money in
the art world of life.  And money isn’t the object.
I mean it’s not an object.  I meant it more like
firewood or kindling.  The kind that gives you a
quick fortuitous heart attack at seventy-one on a
winter morning when you’d like to use your fireplace.