(no subject)

I am a pixel-stained technopeasant. I offer you a poem to do with as you please. Also, I hope you will check out these writers, whose work (among many others') I never would have known (and bought!) were it not for my introduction to them on the internet:

Pamela Dean
Jo Walton
John M. Ford (may he rest in peace)
Neil Gaiman
Jon Carroll
Hanne Blank
Molly Ivins (may she rest in peace)
Lori Selke


And here's the poem:

Mud and garbage

You came into my life all muddy and confused;
Calamity had battered you until the bruises were the whole of the thing
Until scars were all there was
And I misunderstood
I took your scars for the totality of you
And ate your weakness like vitamins
Like proof of my own health
Like first-person contact with your need made me less needy

What I saw was not you –
it was a pile of my own garbage covered with a beautiful layer of delusion
Like reality with sugar on top

Where you pushed, I stood firm
Where I had the opportunity to learn,
I decided I would teach you how life really is
And where you offered me love and a place to heal our shared wounds,
I played doctor, played at friendship, played you
These are things you can’t take back.
And mud and garbage don’t stay that way –
they become rich soil, with or without intervention

Your goodbye was like clarified butter,
liquid and golden and warm and pure

Whew!

What a busy day!

Paid work, two new poems, lots of sex, a poetry reading, two one-hour bus rides -- basically a thirteen-hour day.

Whew.

Ready to fall over now.

(no subject)

Despite my unintentional-and-awkward interruptions, an old friend shared some important stuff with me tonight.

I'm really grateful to be in a world where the really good people -- I mean the really good ones -- are willing to spend time with me and give of themselves in so doing.