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About me... the inevitable run on. Well... I am happy most of the time. Sad or mad some of the time. And, as one person recently told me, a tornado all of the time. But, I am also tired. I do get burnt out. I so run into things that I
shouldn't like closed doorwalls and I trip a lot too (my mother says that it is an endearing quality). I do not practice judging books or judging covers, or others, or people in glass houses or people who throw stones. I think women
should not fear so much that they always have to be competitive or "in charge". I just want to open a book and read a line and discover the meaning of life in sixteen syllables. Is this possible? I just want to live according to that path or plan that was put in place, beyond me, beyond rules, beyond competition, beyond breath, just beyond. Where is that map again? I'm so bad with directions. I lost my glasses. I think its time for a nap.
And now a word (or mis-shapen poem) on getting over it:
The apprentice will remember
the shape of the beacon’s hands.
The traces of miles and songs
will be known to an idol
like the belted carpenter without his pants. Billy can take you places without balancing a ball on his head or taking off his clothes
so you will read to him.
He is the son of Miles and Times.
Moments and songs danced only once,
and yet again, for another…
lingering in the poems
that you’ve spread back and forth,
like honey on Christmas ham.
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