I dreamed about HIM again. It is not you, you were every part of every one of my past lovers. I remember the body parts matching up: first you had the same penis, then the same legs and arms, the nose was different, but the texture of your skin was the same. But this dream had a name on a platter like the head of john the baptist, with mouth open and medusa like snakes coming out, whispering, I AM THE VOICE OF ONE CRYING OUT IN THE WILDERNESS.
Pull head down and close the eyes, think about the times past with smiles, and eyes, no lies.
In the deepest part of my heart, and including the parts that squeeal with the pain of a memory that wasn't mine, I find at times a tenderness. In the thought that someone even imaginary might complement me on some cosmic scale, adding up to 360 degrees, and counting.
When gravity attracts me to another a'spiraling I hope I notice them a'spinning their weave web and woven bread. Find me, and place the food in my mouth.
I must stop talking to hear. And fill my face with food.
And find cool places to put my hands in the dirt.
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