winter expositions about love and loneliness

not sure this is going to be a story or poem or the whole story or just a threshing and skinning of the exposed parts of my soul’s body, or a failure and surrender to how deep the wanting to be revealed and witnessed really is, maybe only step one in the embarrassing necessary preamble to a life as an artist in the arts in capitalism in America behind an iPhone reaching you daily, hourly, eventually on schedule when you attend and pay money to see me believe in myself, again i walk out and about naked from solitude clothed in the sheerest letters a light woolen cloth barely a towel into the dead of winter snow everywhere no patience for whimsy and dance yet i have all the time in the world to stare down this ridge canyon volcano directly to the void and beating heart and quiet and softness and terror and wonder about children today and women and moms and grandmothers and justice and how life could be made less difficult and don’t we have time and patience or are our identities in the way, our superiorities; am i good enough to be the good man and lead or will i accept the role of poet who stokes the fire of others into action because i must stand still watching listening as the philosopher trying out this Gertrude Stein voice again, i love her, i love woman, i love female artists and writers for their endurance in the impossible task of being a person in the world and their fight is different from mine, that’s magical, that’s cool, that could get me out of bed in the morning and cruising on through the afternoon, see i already hit my five hours of mega-productivity driving the fear out of my heart and oh wouldn’t a rich husband be nice to take me horseback riding upstate and handle the affairs, no not infidelity, that ruins everything, oh how strict i am with boundaries and holes and access, how bitter my adulthood might be, haunted and suspicious in every room i enter, every nightfall i fear collapse of the whole; so morning must be a show met with faith and rejoicing and reanimation, whew ok i’m pulling out words from church and the arts, my religions, and there is no judge or jury, no devil, no bad man, just me, i’m the bad man, the worst of them all, carrying all knives and daggers in me, evil, no one is worse than me, this tumble of diatribe and speaking in tongues and gibberish sung from the high/low place can be edited and reinterpreted and snapped up by the hottest editors in the cities, online creators hungry for source code and making up their own, all living beings are making it up! this is raw poetry truth and justice pouring out of the holes in my psyche! insanity as a service! i remember too much and haven’t escaped corporate America the supply chain of beautiful youth marred by dirt and sweat of factory farming their enthusiasm for clicks and dollars that did nothing but pollute the streets, maybe my political critique is not solid gold or a ship that isn’t just holey full of holes and holy like the Lord, pause for rest, no more building and selling today, eat your second breakfast, honey