“It’s nice you understand women,” she says

And in a way I guess I kinda do.

But not all women; and I’ve

said this before.

And maybe it’s the truth: not all women

are to be understood.

And when that’s the case, it’s time

to steer clear, even when

loving and living

in the shadow of such women, not their

shade I under-

line, has taken such a large pro-

portion in amateurish terms of the life

I’ve been allotted

(like allotment gone to ruin and the

rack of torturous existence).

 

IMG_1618 (Edited)

 

And though my actions have hurt children

on both sides of the

unmended fence,

whose memory and presence and

existence and right to kindly childhood

was clearly foregone by my being,

and by having appeared on the scene of

idiocy, on the screen of

profligacy, I can only suggest it’s time

for amends: not rank terrible apology

for everything done: in any and every case,

there’s nothing now to be

done to be

able to undo any

thing that might’ve one day been

left re

done.

 

IMG_1616 (Edited)

 

No.  The amends I need to make are

amends, curiously, to my

self: the blame I have accumulated re-

late[s] as much to my individual

dis-

attention to

the person and needs and wants

I want to dis-

cover and re-

cover and un-

cover for

me!

 

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So please touch me dear world:

do touch me I say:

do love my skin and caress my mind with

the words I do return and try

to inveigle your senses

with blood love and light and sighted

sex.

Or any sex, where love is the definer –

and the refiner of crude

toil.

Any sex, where kindness and

action and reaction do mix, and connect

and reconnect on days that

follow others, so that ultimately we

stumble across the truth of a life well lived:

that good memories make for a better

living in the present I’d like to share with

you.

 

IMG_1615 (Edited)

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