if I’d know you were the dumping kind
i’d’ve dumped you first.
BUT **** IT HURTS
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You know, since you’ve played that game too:
of treasured child, or husband, wife,it is one further bound of loveto speak of them with a detachment;casually; offhand; as if it wereof no great current consequence;you look into their eyes; see there what you see:love’s incoherent boundlessness;are lost to love yourself;smile; and play their game.
It’s not a playground where
without noticing whetherthere’s a listeneror a playgroup wherethere’s paper, paste, scissors,all over the place,thoughts pasted on thoughts,without noticing anyone elseno, it’s some specific calling,saying, see that far-off other?we’re related; see us as together,your surprise may tell youabout that vastness –maybe, awe, wonder, beauty,wisdom, truth…goodness…so treat me, metaphor,as if god’s priest:respectfully, sparingly, carefully;as you would look…
I love the old Greek view –
the god lies sleeping;a sweet sleep, full of refreshment,as snug as a bug in a rugor Arthur, all his knights around,under the green hills of Avalon;we, each of us full of all Olympus;gods, sleeping as a mother does,always an ear for the slightest soundof those they love;the gods love us,how could they notand of those…
Landing airplanes form a high queue;
Salespersons should pretend they like you;But only poets can form a haiku.
Dear Friends –
you will remain –I’m not sending any cards this year –so of course, I do not deserve to receive any,by the human law of tit for tat…So if you’re sending me a cardbecause you sent me one last yearand think I’ll notice if you don’t –don’t bother.If you’re sending me a cardjust because I sent…