To Quibble

i could write a novel about about my lovers past and present but I never will. i don't have the patience for adequate character description. i prefer to keep the memories as they were. it's easy if you let it out first and then try to write another verse about attraction and standing near to it without touching, electromagnetic pulsing between arm hairs. it was just him, and a room full of beautiful women, he never noticed the other men sitting and why would he? never mind our minds and there is no soul in buddhism. i have largely misunderstood the world around me and it is only beginning to not make sense. there is a bowl of rice and then there is no bowl of rice and then there is a bowl of rice again so eat it. when in Boulder, do as the roamers do, this convergence of peoples where my existence has commenced.  religion in my life has meant Catholicism.  after a lifetime of church-going, my grand-parents have chosen to stop going when the Father started talking about Obamacare on the pulpit. now they sit at home every Sunday and choose a passage of the Bible to discuss together on their own, they have their own form of worship. i think of Sister Juana de la Cruz and Anne Bradstreet, i think of Lady Mary Wroth and Shakespeare's sister makes me shudder with counfusion; they wrote about being vessels for God's word, that He worked through their hand and the words on the page were not their own. i see it the same way only not so Christian, like its more of a consciousness that is floating around independently of us and I am like a radio box, channeling all the jumbled waves through my innards and translating them into something other people might understand, or at least be able to recognize as their own. i have no ownership of anything and i find material things weighing. I toss pebbles into Boulder River sitting in my gone-swimmin underwear on a rock, the only reason i brought my phone is so that we would have a clock. i struggle with time-telling and with money, their existence, the resistance of my soul to fly from a half submerged basement. the chance that we would have a flood rise to the second floor is like the strange weather patterns, since i got here it has rained a little bit every day. sorry guys,  i brought the Maryland with me, the neighbors who fly a Confederate flag and call it southern pride; i can't lie about this stuff, even if it does seem obvious, like most of what i write, i am lying naked on my unsatisfied ass.