Love Letter 237 Imperfect Surrender Melting Pot

sometimes, this just trying, isn't working out

i dangle my subject, I thirst, I wad up my research, I sit

for hours, searching the tide for your endless dress

I needlepoint my aimless seeking interim

for anything that looks like/sounds like "Jesus"

I try forgiving for breakfast, lunch and in the evening

the sun goes down, or does it? but it still gets dark nonetheless

I feel your seething as I go to work perfecting myself

and still this assassination

I have wrapped and packed and garbled

I have taken, and sent back

I have ordered, reordered, returned, and finally gone to the laundromat torn between cleanliness and one more isolated youth

but

now

there is still no oak in the fire

and those words I used, on the broken wall, they spell out YOU

and now

I step over or around those shells

not knowing what to do

to end this violence

between

how to meet you half way

and be here

in the present moment

with myself

Oh! disorder, you have come to mute this triumph

but I will still get up, and sit with you

still articulate The Mother out of This Language

and try

to steer myself toward you

with one oar

and a whole lotta love