Friday, February 7, 2020
Affectation as a means of not studying the actual text. The horses meet me in the blue light of right-before-dawn and I thank them profusely, which they accept as their due. Walking for hours in a storm without my glasses, snow caking my hunched shoulders, alone and mostly okay. Is it possible I am the problem? The ones I called "Teacher" withdraw into unlit caves, like eels faced with a sudden light. Morning passes shoveling broad trails and writing poems like this and yet a quiet voice inside me wonders if it will ever be enough. The heart unspools its yellow threads to reveal a crystal rosary which opens it thighs to the sun. Listen, brother: it's better to humble yourself in false prayer than build a church with doors that lock.