Note From My Moleskine #9

August 7, 2009

31 July 2009
Buffalo, NY

I am not Dante’s rock pusher
My load will stay
at the top of the hill.
I am not in Hell,
and have no plans to return there.
Little vines of yellow flowers
wreath your head,
cocked at an odd smile
and shining with the sun.
You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
A thing you aren’t
Your warmth does not come
from where the others’ warmth
comes from,
it is all around me
it is from you
it is of you
I sleep in your warmth
like there is no danger
like I’ve never heard of danger.
This is a problem,
as there is,
and I have.
I must learn to quell
the danger — this is impossible,
this is a fantasy —
or learn to find your warmth
when I face you with open
eyes — this is easy,
it is all around me.


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