when you were the last high . . . .
pulsepoint is a gravity-
Marguerite has our father’s
eye
lashes
and when the
Sun smiles it is
reasonable
to
assume
he is in love with all of us --
with me
and
with you
pulsepoint is symmetry-
like sea nymphs acting
on their
best behavior --
stirring up the waves --
and every piece of coral knows
chaos is at most
completely
natural
and
just
just needing to be loved!
pulsepoint pins the pout-
he’s like an angry shout
all vociferous
and
proud
shy-away afterwards he’s
magnificent
humming melodies
and shaking window panes
‘cos, yea --
because
he
love love loves
me
so
These past few weeks have been fucked-up and wonderful, and wounding. My grandpa Pere died the Sunday before last, and if I didn't let you know, it's cos I didn't want to at the time. I still can't really say much about it. Sometime I'll post my Nana and Pere's wedding pictures. That will speak more than I know how to say. Claire came back to America that Thursday night, and we met her at the San Francisco airport at around 11:30pm or something after the rosary. To see everyone, to be together. It was a really important time. Friday was the mass, the funeral, and the wake. Then we came home (I didn't want to leave . . . . I wanted to stay there forever and be surrounded).
This week has been just as hectic as the last, and maybe later I'll post about it. Right now all I can say is that this semester (or, rather, this year) has been a hard one. Not because of school, but because of everything else. I still can't quite come to grips with any of it.