SOC Writing _ 6.4.21

Death Walks

Slow up beside me – as you are quivering, fearful and cold, hot and flushed – I never had this feeling with my son – my newest born before – that he could be gone and I left with a huge hole in my soul – a window made that I want to get back in but can’t. You are so precious to me. You and your Scorpio fire, you and your fuck it – take desire. I love all of you and through the long night you require my calm – your fear is palpable – terror as the temperature runs high – wondering what scenes you are seeing, playing off against the walls – what wonders you point to but I cannot see. And then you are fitfully at rest – gone – lights out and then again it comes – the terror – is this just the way you feel everything so greatly? Am I the only one not given the intensity of direct experience? Have to have my mind and soul titillated before I will give astonishment. You have come through – the 39.1 and now the fever has broken and I am calm, really calm again – the walk of death always a trot around that little track called life – brief life – a flower in a meadow – a wisp of wind and so my dreams ask me WTF are you doing with your one cloud of smoke? Is it the wild and abandoned life you wish to live? Is your soul taking hold of every fucking thing you must? Where is that sweet spot that lingers long after the lovers have left your abode, long after children have been to their mothers – long after the family meal at home as given its last – what is the morsel in your hand that sustains you, that fire – what flame are you tending for your only one self? Listening all night long to my dreams I am worried again about this piece of soul summons work – have I indeed taken a shortcut? Am I choosing that one and indescribable piece of music that I must play to the derision of all others? The old anger swells in me now as I prepare for a beating – letting down my stick to breathe into what is always here – my becoming.