May 7
Pinocchio as a Girl
I should be painting today instead of reframing the future, an unnecessary and ephemeral job at best. Kind of like lassoing an unborn colt, I try to put a rope around something that cannot get away. Outcome hasn’t much to do with foregone conclusion and wouldn’t I be better mixing colors and wetting brushes than cutting slices from a pie in the sky? But tomorrow seems more spacious than this crowded present and I con myself into believing this is a harmless trip to the fair. I lose my light, my thought, my sight with these thieving sojourns; leaving me to creak around because all that is left is wood.
Nothing gets in the way of something
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MAIL
I form my query
Fold my mind
And mail it off to God
With a stamp of approval from my sponsor
The questions sent are of no great interest
But the responses are a spellbinding group
What is returned unopened
Is a wide array
The circuitous route taken by some
Is a charm of elucidation
I rub my finger over the intact seals
And marvel at the travels of the wax
I mourn over the defunct gods
And their public relations organizations
Slow is my resolve to pour over the replies
I get easily caught in lackings and shy from true contact
The equations embedded in my heart read the letters
And sing the notes, these songs are just for me
I know them like my name
I turn the envelope and see how old the postmark is
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