I'm Not Mad That Much Anymore

I found myself in the same situations

railing against myself

trying to see if I actually judged 

where the anxiety pushed in

creating non-nowness

& I think she would take credit

for a sentence like that

but I refuse,

knowing it was Alan Watts,

Alan Christ-ing me from disckishness

& how do we go back to the unmoved-mover?

back to what started all this motion?

it’s turtles

all

the

fucking

way

down

& maybe one day we’ll scratch the belly of the 

infinite

only to find out how wrong we were

now I refuse to stay serious

& yes

maybe it’s a deflection

something to make them look me in the eye

while I tell them lies

lies so sweet & believable

even to me

especially to me

but

joy!

you forgot about ever-approaching joy

showing up in the cars with women

how it’s silly

& no small grace

to fuck beautiful women in the backseat

& how it’s even sillier

that it hasn’t happened before now

What’s this to you?

What’s this to me?

Whatever

& I love you all 

so very tenderly 

& sometimes I hate that

hate myself for this

& it’s joy again

joy all over our lips

& brows

your’s mine

mine your’s

break my heart open

& I’ll break you with all the animal & love I have

trusting in these natures

these things

alone

& I bend the words

because I like the way it feels

I like the way they come out

I love that it’s me they come from

I met a beautiful woman on the street

the other day

much older than me

not too old for me

she talked about concentrating the bullshit on Van Ness

because

‘fuck it, it’s so ugly anyway’

she was irritated with the wait for the 

bus

everyone on queue to be so many places

These things don't bother me

I’ve probably seen great Loves go off on crowded buses

while I waited for one with more room

& that’s ok

at least I know me

& maybe one day

far off really

I will be irritated by the bus schedule

the ebb & flow

remains natural

to me

Did you forget that this is always the way?

or

did you become indignant with this truth?

maybe

because it wasn’t yours?

you couldn’t hold it precious

& profane in your heart

alone

allowing no one this place

forever a mystery? 

better that 

than be known

for what you are

something that aches

& hurts

& haunts it’s own past

Anger is the poor man’s Truth

& now I’m hearing Blackbird

at the Plough and Stars & I’m moved

& I have no clue why

Why Blackbird?

other than the bar 

or was it the coffee shop at your college

See?

I’m already forgetting

you were right

you said this would happen

That’s to say

“I’m not mad

that much

anymore.”

& all the songs make me want to cry

& we’re done.

all the songs make me cry

a moved-mover 

inconsolable about nothing