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subscribeFriday, May 30
I could write a million words here about the way the ground used to swallow me up and comfort me on the catastrophic days, but that's not the way things are. I could write about saying goodbye or lonely cities and schizophrenic music. But it's disingenuous. And I suppose I must have changed. I would pull everything together if I could. I would bring it, rushing, towards the center, with hurricane force winds and clouds of disaster. That is, if disaster was on my mind. But I can't even try to understand and piece it into the puzzle. I guess there is no puzzle. There is only the goodbye hanging in the air. Perpetually. And if the ground fails to swallow me up I'll just lift it up and contemplate the weight and feathered lightness of the summer sky.
