Haunted

I wanted to write to you about the title of this blog and the meaning of pretty to me at this time and in this context. I wanted to write about my first post to expound and dissect. Im sorry I cannot be so linear, you will have to wait for those entries.

I am haunted day and night. I am haunted by those I've held dear and let go in into the clamor of letters and emails not responded to, into the chaos of daily life and forgetting. I cant sleep for these memories of love left to desiccate and dissipate in the air like ash. I carry them like lost souls and they wait for quiet moments, when I try to dream, and they wont let me rest. The television can distract me sometimes as do sex and sensual desire. Drinking drowns the memories for a while. Making art culls the memories into another form, telling the stories of my spirits, so thats why I stop and start with my art. The missteps and the mistakes, the loves I have forsaken. I am haunted every day... good or bad poetry the following says it all:

Worry Song

I worry this air,

an old clothe worn thin at the hem by tremulous fingers.

I worry this minute this hour like an old house floor

Longing for the afternoon’s innocence.

I worry these arms

cramped and lonely

two branches

twisted in wind

dipping into fast unconscious waters.

I worry these legs,

these feet and

the unyielding gravity

wrapping me in memory like a widow.

I worry my eyes and my mouth

forlorn

for smooth bellies and a

a finger tracing my spine.

I worry my days like a mother

Sure of the pain in everything

Even in the sweetest delight.

I worry my life like a fugitive

Running tender footed onto and under the sheets of strangers

To forget why

to stop

to smother the worry

So

For a moment…

I can breathe.

me, circa sometime in 2004 or 5