The state that I am in
living is like crouching down low among a grove of peach trees, sharing a jar of honey with a small black bear and his bird friend while the sun starts gliding breezily over the hill. this morning i keep hugging the place; very romantic. there is only one place that i know of. there are no homes. and really, there are many homes. it is a frustration and predicament to feel that you and your neighbors, with your functional and consistent understanding of your lives together hold the master copy, the rubric. understandings hold neither blood nor water. i do not like it that i talk as if my heart is the eye of the storm. and .(my hands are very shaky). and i feel very badly that i haven't found another way to do it. this is my bleeding heart. and really, there are many hearts. one day, i hope to know what there is behind that green mountain from which all the new hearts keep climbing down. this morning, i am hugging the place romantic. dying is like falling asleep next to the open window late at night in a thunderstorm after a very hot day.