julius cesar

you can love the opera without being one of them.

hot wet face sitting up in bed: take it easy, take it easy. and no sleep. feel the feel of edging closer to yourself, the thick magnetism of it. the rough outward push of it: oh you want to press in? you best be sure. positive/negative, i charge myself wretched.

still need to scream. still need to stick my hands wrist deep, elbow deep in black black dirt. world constructed of faulty syllogisms, give out. unclutter this, unknot this. no dreams, just the night like a hammer. story unwinding from a trick bobbin, really just falling apart? secretly sewn into a new thing?

you can reject the new thing. and the new fear, more dangerous than the old. draw a line down the center of your forehead, split the hemispheres: this, too, is irrational.

hanna is moving in may, she says: you should take my room. i know. i should. mother and dad will be back in england for summer, they say: just come stay with us for awhile. but i'm looking for my room, the one with big windows and the bookshelf. is it big or small, i don't know. here or there i don't know. have you seen my room? do you know where it is?
in august, to maine, for the wedding. and to see the way they take the syrup from the trees.