Kindnesses

Things I am trying not to think, such as, wishing a happy couple’s therapy to all women in chore coats this season

Y I paint

To be here in the now, with you. And, above all, innocence, again.

Excerpt II and temping

It was dark when you came, dark enough to smell your seed. To smell the seed I shell, ingest, spit out before me. No, really, before you, for you, before the people and the mount, before the swarming boggle eyes of the cattle congregation, the children, yes, I pause them, tell them, watch me, watch me swallow without feeding watch me spit bright nuggets from black, taxed seed; watch how clean seed charred with life becomes the seed of dusk, seed of a cloth-bound light so far ahead your faithless fathers named it Eden.

Lissome

The end of sacrifice and the approach of the true temple (Milton—heart). Bowen, no love’s death. To learn body in all its uses. This morning thinking of what is recorded in, on me, so as to serve You. 

Jam tomorrow (continuing)

No I am not the same. Scabbing everywhere, over the heart. They, soft tissue bound. He who loveth, she who loveth, man and bird and beast. 

Rhubarb

Rooting where I am. 

(I had a farm in Africa: Baroness? Always in that title, both, a twinge of evils imperial and yet we are communing—this seems to be, now, all I have)

Outer resolution says little of the inner winds. To enact a stipulation and find oneself in open field. The gesture (Flusser) in the day: tethers of the heart-free. Will that be what they ask of us. Which is delmore. El more. Spring is not sour; Louis A at last this morning then One Enchanted Evening (some) so perhaps she is with me still, and Again.

GS

I do not trust them, those big ears, they contravene the artist (FK WB), they dilate his workings