Sunday, March 16, 2008
So Many Worries Pilgrim, I'll Bring Back Your Rosary
And the only thing softer than my hair is the way you hold me when we're sleeping.
I used to be in love with beauty. An aesthetic way of perceiving the world. Well put together often superseded quality or truth.
You always got me thinking.
I've found beauty in the bus stop, in error, failure, and some sparse chest hair.
Beauty isn't a snappy outfit from American Apparel, it's that intense stare that has no defined beginning or end; no meaning or reason. Beauty is hundreds of people united in a cause. Beauty is empathy. Beauty is natural.
I feel blessed right now. I'm tender and I can't sleep, but I got a lot going for me. I lay down and close my eyes thinking about how slowly (but surely) they are opening. I can see shifting colors.
oh thank you thank you thank you thank you. You're a saint.
I want to be a soothsayer, but I'm just a clutzy mess. Tonight I feel softhearted and steady. Why won't this feeling last? So far that feeling hasn't passed.
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
Pic by Peter Turnley (loverly)
at 11:46 PM