dudemanflab's Diaryland Diary

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Trembling on the edge of is

I aimed, for awhile, for no ulterior motives. Thought I could get by like a squirrel in the persimmon tree or one of the three blackbirds pecking in the road. Let life be.

You never know you're alive until you get thrown off the merry-go-round. You did not even guess you had the intention of staying on the merry-go-round until you're thrown off it. Surprises happen every day.

Mine, for now, is the impossibility of intention. What is differs from what might be in more than letters (though letters, here, do such a work of difference). I cannot be intentionless. Can't stop the world spinning, can't stop my sideways chant of 'what might be, might be'

If I can't evade intentions-- which, then, do I call mine?
How far? How wide?
Intend a walnut shell? a fire? to knit a phrase? to harrow hell?
flicker, but enduringly? swallow bites of guacamole?
love, love, love, love, love.
'tis. 'tis. 'tis. 'tis. tis.

I will be through my love, not doubt, shame, wit, not subtlety.
I will be through a love not wholly me.
A gift. A gift. A gift.

(and mine! to think--an avocado brought me here!)

7:06 p.m. - November 28, 2008

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