February 2, 2015 § Leave a comment
I struggle to wake this morning, first time in weeks. Take it for a good sign, terrestrial. I have missed my body
In my dream, I recall just the end, I yelled at the woman No, I can’t deal with that right now,
when she asked would I make the aubergine. And it’s odd, because I had not understood it for urgent.
I think it must be lonely to be a mathematician. I wouldn’t want to do it.
Maybe I need faces more than the mathematician does. I don’t know.
Now there is a new flower, a tall one that I am only half sure is real.
There are little clips keeping those long stems up and they make me wince
No, I haven’t got to enjoying meat yet.
I like it when,
meeting people, they try to decipher nationality.
Maltese, but also Icelandic
Not French and not Scandinavian and who knows what, but a little Irish at least, at least something not English
Still, nothing can go fast enough,
so this morning was a false start.
[It is our borderzones where it is created.] — No, ‘border’ is wrong; too hard, too set, too bounded. It is more like the liminal
The world likes us to be confident.