(no subject)
the squid took flight today. instead of feeling too sad or lonely about her departure, i am excited for her -- relieved that her adventure is becoming a reality. i look forward to her returning with a transformed vision of the world and of herself. right now it is just me, some cheap sushi & sonny rollins, whose sax is providing a substantial comfort as he rips mack the knife. i thrive on these scenes. saxophone strings up roman candles in my ears -- fire in the hole -- bloooo-blah-bip. the right music makes it feel like everything is being thrown back into the kiln to be reworked, reshaped, the world is boiling off it's fat, and the jets are rearing.
much later.
i keep looking for signs that the squid is safe on earth, and no longer up there on a night plane ride. i see the plane there in the dark like a sleek metal spoon plunged deep into black soup. i just remembered that i had written a small poem for squid a while back, but i could not remember any of the lines until i just unearthed it. i'm happy to know that it still works. it still works. writing is a funny thing. it seems so perfect and then you lose track of what you wrote and it gets lost amid the other writings and as tho you dug up an old wrist watch from the yard and brushed it off to find it still ticking, you chance upon it again and the words come back fresh and real and you realize the very things that keeps you writing in the first place, the feeling that makes the months of pages of erasings and bullshit writing so worth it.
"a love like shaving soap" -- a. sexton