Tuesday.

October is cold when you cannot see June. Cleave to or cleft from this place that once seemed so strange. There, there will be a big backyard with a low sky swinging, trees to lean a spine upon. Read a book. That is the way I will walk home, and this is the route I take now, a gauntlet of gold and red boughs, leafmeal beneath my feet. Something is wrong or right. Possibility widens the window. Me, then you with our lives stretched before us like a Thanksgiving table, though sometimes I think, I cannot eat. Cannot enjoy the taste of anything. No, any thing you say can bring a smile. Old creeps into my bones every now and again. Sinews sewn taut and my limbs wish to run. Could I blink and be there? Across a table, fingers stretched to grasp a glass of wine. There’ll be time.

I worked the math out in my head, then killed the feeling completely. Cut down my hair. A new beginning, a naked baby-feeling. Lose my sex, my fingerprint safety net. [Been told] a man’s mind and woman’s red heart. Ancient soul with elastic skin. Pull on my too big overcoat, the wool one with all the buttons I must retie again and again, wear it like abstraction, obscurity. So this is what security feels like: a little too heavy, warmy, fusty, but necessary in case I am becoming too weary for the knowing. Am relying too heavily upon the unknown expanse of may be. Possibility. Like Emily, dwell there too willingly. Homebound.

Crashkill all about me, defeat the life that threatens to suppress the carnival spirit sense, the horses. The horses, the oats and apples unspent, the games we play to pay the rent. Reel back, reel in acrylic goldfish, time away from lovers and mothers, sisters, brothers, fathers. Ascetic assertion, just to make another day orange and bright with tries. Trying to make a home of my heart, only cinematically in technicolor and polaroid captures of the future fitting. Fitting that I should be so lost here among leaves that turn to crimson and copper waxshine.

And cake and wine was a picture of me, what I could be, lost too, lost to reality. never wanted just me or who would either? All black boots and a wool coat, broken doll eyes. Out at sea, a full fathom five gulf between you, and then me. Missing that self that is selfless and true. Pearls on a string, these loves I’ve left behind. Pressed round and shiny, all platonic ideals shaped and secured in the void, the ether out there, rising high to greet the stars. A bluehot kiss hello and then wandering on to elsewhere. Great big purple bursts poison the teeth. Leave a sweet residue that can not forget she bit his cheek. Drew blood. And it was love.