Confession of fortune's child
Teachers try to talk through their mistakes without remorse.
Most of us are made of mistakes from hasty paid-for performances. As if
students need help emptying their body of meaning. They are apophatic
masters. Is emotion a battle of slippery means to a graceless end.
Verbs lock language and god's perspective tells the same recursions.
Sometimes I am sorry to confess these things
things that are picked clean, lint-free and laundered.
Just as I am she hangs and adjusts my shirts on
the clothes line. A dance I like to watch
from our bed pretending pretty much
to be asleep in my chair. Her breast lift with her arms
A daily bread given and rising. The still warm part
of her touched here and here.
An impromptu speech for abba poemon
Lauren
dressing for work. her work washing bodies for funerals. Preparation.
Teaching the preparation of
bodies for funerals. I trust the dead.
our family freshening in
our Walton township plotspace Finally
dowsing a desire for something
akin to all my forgotten fathers. my desert fathers
The lines of my east and west pasture are
being held down by two long-eared owls. If
these long ears had verbs how
would they hide them? Each a doxy woo woo
wooing. The ruts in the front drive pool
water and ice.
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