Mariah comes and stays the night. What will I tell my wife? Walking with a full wine glass, discussing the usefulness of knowing what a certain constellation is named. Do you remember when I discovered the moon and wrote about it for two years straight? She reminds me always of my obsession with images.
Nothing can be added, nothing subtracted. My Russian lover calls and wants to know why she's not in the poems anymore. Well, when you're bent on confusing Heaven with a woman, any woman will do. I often dump a bottle of cheap whiskey on his grave. I was so drunk when we buried him that - no joke - they made me sit in the back of the hearse.
Ah, well. The horse likes her, which matters. These days I can't get drunk enough so I don't bother. I miss you but I don't miss your penchant for drama and your habit of insisting on being forever the center of my attention. I'm crawling along familiar trails, which takes concentration, so you're going to have to manage for yourself.
Remember that clarity and grace are not conditional! Grackles storm the feeder, a wave of iridescence, a black shock of lovely. Peripheries work just fine my dear. Mariah kept me up with her kisses and bites, gusting over my shoulders, insisting on another story. She's right of course: word by word, we perfect..