I’m seeking shamans and
I seek technique
I seek farewells and island life
I seek the brilliant obscurity
I would laugh out loud
and be happy to be so obscure
and never to share not to share
and not to say a word
a flaring silence
flowering
and firing
silence
there is the sweetest delicate salve
like flower scented
and it flows
it’s over all that
and the meaning—
There is a row of pines. There are balls of flowers hanging in the air, purple petunias, yellow, gold and red.
Stealing time. Stealing it and hiding it in a perfect hiding place. Buried in a perfect dirt hole. Tell you how I miss, tell you how I miss my objects, tell you how I miss my dirty objects. This is like a gaping rawness in my heart. This is like a virgining of the flowers. This is like rotting. Don’t want that habit. Objecting to the purity.