rock the vote.

Having been deployed for some distant war
for some time now,
I feel cinematic, in my re-appearance on the horizon.
all blaze and smoke and colored haze
uniform (same dress, every day, a ragdoll costume)
soldiering for something unclear, foggy.
Fighting tooth and nail for freedom by day,
stubbornly and bravely,
and then nightly, tying my own binds
out of fear of moonlight mutiny.

My absentee-ballot, unfortunately, seems to have been lost,
and I haven't updated my address since I left the floodzone,
so I'll do that now.
And I'll take back my voice, my vote.
And I'll make some decisions.
Most of all I won't dwell on battlescars.
I will not submit to regret for lives lost,
it was all in the name of Freedom, after all.

((so you too, take up your sword.
Let's join forces with the foxes,
and read poetry as prayer,
and say thank you, thank you,
thank you to objects
that may not even breathe. -avm))

Aged glue should be an official color. I'm writing to my congressman. (Who makes those decisions?)

in a dream last night
the steering wheel of my car came off.
underneath, it was revealed to be sealed only with a dab of hot glue
which had yellowed, hardened, become like resin-
A place for insect skeletons.
i gave up on the car, and all of my belongings
followed a long trail of powerlines down a flat, long highway in the desert.
how did i get to the desert?

when I woke
still in a state of sleeplogic
I rolled over to my side,
pulled a pillow in to rest between elbows and ribs
and laughed at how simple the answer was:
shoulda just licked the glue, stuck it back on.

Who cares what you ate for breakfast, anyway? (melon)

The narrative of communication
Has become embarrassingly straight forward
And what room is there for metaphor?
For romance?
When we check in with everyone so frequently that there is no longing
Or deprivation of information
That creates desire?

Sometimes I think Best has it right
When she falls off of the map
For weeks at a time
Leaving a trail of question marks bouncing in her wake -
reigniting the idea of intrigue.
We are becoming creatures who want to know everything.
And once we do, what else will there be to learn?
How much time do we have to evolve,
really,
If we spend so much of it reporting where we are at?

A story:
I have never been good at balance, I know this.
An office job I held for three years (with two slippery fingers, by the end of it)
Asked for frequent reports of progress
And this, eventually was enough reason to leave
Because how can I move forward
And also tell you where I am going?
I know it's possible - I know.
But maybe not for me?

And are we still lovable, with nothing left to learn about us?

So many relationships begin
With the phrase:
"I'd like to get to know you better"
And then, there comes a point
Where we know each other too well.

Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars.

A dear friend lost a child today.

Full term, unexpected.

My ears echo with a terrible, tearing sound.

I found out while driving, stomach sunk.

Dropped into my boots, made the gas pedal heavy.

What is there to say?

And so we try to glean lessons of life and love

From all things, don't we?

And the lesson I glean today,

Or at least try to, with clenched jaw, watery eyes, pitted stomach,

Is that the entire world is a big, complicated ball of happenings

Beautiful and terrible,

Shining, gaping, everything in between.

And we are all trying to hold it in our hands.

And we need help.

And shit, that's okay.

Now.

Now, would be the appropriate time to say something is missing.

"Something is missing."

a tilted tide.

"It was then that Tristan came into the quiet heart of his life.
The bear inside him was sleeping.
It is hard to tell of happiness.
Time goes by and we feel safe too soon."  - Legends of the Fall

I am, for the moment, wordless.
And so I borrow the words of others.
The words that ring in my head,
Get stuck, like songs.
And just as I wonder about the idea of silence
And not communicating
I get a message from Best,
And she asks for words from a book I have taken with me,
Words that I read aloud in a bathtub in low light two evenings ago,
And they are these. And they are perfect:

You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything--
your eyes, the things you
knew, the way you turned,
leaned, stood, or sat
this way or that: when
you left, the area around here rose
a tilted tide, and everything that
offers desolation drained away.

-a.r. ammons