Divorce, Single Parenting, Dating, Sex, & Self-Recovery

these configurations of we

Spread the love

incessant poem - graphic

 [from Misconfigurations of Love – poetry]

such oddly wonderful
these configurations of we

emailing poems
to ourselves
wrestling with a cat
to get out of the way
to say to Siri(tm)
that I love you still
but she can’t get it right
she’s missing the point

in bed by 10
my brain thinks i must’ve gone crazy
writing by the light
of the little luminescent screen
so as not to wake too fully
by the light

if i miss
it will come round again
surely

as i dream
in words
it’ll
come. back. around.

as recycled sadness
or drone strikes of self defeat

best to interrupt this beauty sleep
to scratch one out
to abandon thoughts of hope
prayer-songs of joy
this expression
will be found a hundred times
and lost just as many
plus one

until I have given in
and voiced the electrical language
the impulse back to me
and saying how much i miss you
again and
again
like a prayer
in a leaky boat of joy

___

full stop

___

that’s enough
for now

to return
to the sargasso sea of sleep
and more chemistry of dreams and online dating
and recalibrations
of my brain
this is not what insomnia looks like
this is joy
i promise
this
is
joy

back to sleepy-time tea
and this capture
like a camomile compress
to the mind
or some ungodly tonic
to the stream
that messes up my hair
with even more hope
more orchestrated chaos
even more
forms
for
words
aimed at love songs
or losing this sadness
and remembering the pain
that you had become
for me

this is an anniversary of sorts
this moment
this night

a triumph – i hope

it is too early to tell
june is hardly summer
you are hardly gone
i am barely breathing
and yet declaring independence
and dancing
and praying
and songs no longer meant for you
still about you
maybe
like a white whale
i’ve been chasing since my twenties

i can only write that now
in my 50th year
fully empowered
yet again
surrounded by cats
and new, healthier friends
and the old ones
who remained on my side
like the old tennis shoes
they are

we are not

they are not on your side
they have rallied around me
with some effort
and belief
in building on truth
and something that lasts
passing from easy
into difficult
and even unspeakable

see this here
(points at chest)
won’t be stopped
until the impulses stop
to connect
and connect
and connect
and connect
and connect
and

and i can get back to sleep
surrounded by cats of different colors
aroused by my light
and an awakened me
that might mean food
if they play their parts just right

a deep breath
and a letting go
letting you go
count backwards from 10
it will only hurt for a second
before you’re gone

i’m gone
and night returns to its rightful place
in constellations of time
as an ease
a rest
a peace
and not this
—this—
this
—this—
this

and not this
incessant scratching

5-6-13

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