stand_with_me_at_the_site_of_longing tender square night wrings me out like a swollen dishrag. all these matrices beyond understanding: the staircases in my dreams, recurring. in the sun-shock white i stand gardenia full, and the acidity of a soul transmutes the color from cream to bubble pink. it takes a long time to come into being, and longer, still, to trust what we’re seeing. 210830 ... unhinged my mom got a garden stone with a poem on it, his name and dates since he wasn't going to have a grave. we placed it under the big palm tree in their backyard and spread some of the ashes. eventually they were probably carried away on the wind. maybe some of them settled in the gravel. i looked down at my fingers covered with his ashes, rubbed them on my forehead (vaguely catholic) and my lips and the tears spilled out. there are ghosts of you everywhere in that place. i hate going there now even though my mother is still there breathing, living, sighing. maybe it will get easier. 210830 what's it to you? who go blather from