New Moon Absences

the incidence  and appearance of things. their timings
are odd and notable to me

an invitation stands for tomorrow
but i have shelved it, i cant play the same games with tired negros two years after
an inbox that will be pretended unread

but in any case, i wake up almost as always on mark
thinking what an utter idiot i have been but i did it for love, i did it for unbridled passion. and for what never happened before.
i drink a huge glass of lime juice water
and wonder what to tell and beseech the angels as the approaching hour
and then i feel my body running cold, one of the reasons I woke up was because of the oppressing heat but i realize now it was dehydration
the nights no longer blow breezes like they used to
it is that time of stillness

i write of my delusions, error and folly
i write of the men and list them
they are at the wide side of each spectrum
i make an assessment on both sides, the top and the bottom, it was the same:
zero nothing but disrespect, attempted domination, threatened, fear
the big names might surprise you
but it was the small names that i wrote, both, never again

let me be the altar they come to in the future
let me be sweet, beautiful and unmoved
i realized it was hard to be sweet when people are constantly fighting you
it is how i know most males rarely ever are presented by real women, only girls
most little in mind and spirit, inferior and that special world "humble"
i had a young lady once tell me that i should be more humble to have a man
and by that I know the world is fucked and not coming back
when the next generation can be just as backward as the one my mother came from

i wrote asking for self support, self love and contentedness
seeking and asking nothing of no one
just balance. no despondent yesterdays
no matter what the dreams say or indicate

then i set about reading loving che
a book written in snatches, like the form i prefer for my own works
me and sandra cisneros
and i read one leaf and flip the page
the last paragraph sent me here

"I remember passing a jewelry store on San Rafael in the early days of January."

if that line were not enough, its timing today , my movements tomorrow, the farm of lore> i continue reading a second time and realize the rest speak to what it is i am writing here and in my journal at 4:05 am-- of my jewels, the one I wait for, the one that i vow now to stop searching for but shall sit on my perch until they find me.. they will find me. the thing we search for is seeking us.

"every window had been broken"

and what window of mine hasnt?

"And yet all those jewels remained in their cases. I stood for a long time in front of the shattered glass, staring at a necklace adorned with a row of red rubies, like little drops of blood>"

and as i sit and read to transcribe, my bed throw around my shoulders, I sitting like a buddha or a first people native american indian, my reading glasses perched on my chinese flat nose, and i bend the book to see, and then poise to type on this ratchified fake plastic computer with an oddly aligned keyboard..i cant type and look elsewhere any more - that is how i know...anyway...it is with all those characteristics, and the dark of middle of the night, i feel most like an academic . just the process of writing reading and typing.

good morning