A new Post of an old Writing

I told you that in my throat I felt a thickness
In my throat, our lives
sharp roof tops and honeysuckled honey and cream and sugar of salt and whiskey that they drink
They drink separately miles apart
They live with imaginary friends
Ships sailing opposing grounds without the breeze of this evening
No more music of them or music of their colors of red and snowfalling white and lanolium floor coating
Of kisses on the hand
And punches to the jaw I sewed back in my nursed vicariously fanstasized mind
Because we can’t swallow
Sourness disinigrates our teeth and we don’t call those people that wait for our voices they pretend they
Recognize
Because the numbers are stuck in the condensation and the heaviness of these days and hours in the fog and dark fog that they put you in
And I’m getting older too
And now I should understand and they should too and
What the dictator of passing time allows is only this
Grudge
Grudging teeth of grit and ore and wafered bread and half touched wine
Driving north to a place of escape with como estas bonita senorita
And capes and watered streets of enlightened empty encounters
To complimate the radiant side of finding people who you must replace with imaginary friendships when they are gone.
Finding a place of placement in every place you go you go to find these new
Families
We find we make we consolidate and protect and neglect and reject
In embracement of the souls between, the space between we find heavenly and sweet heavenly space to swallow.
We can swallow around the lumps and folds of fear of losing of regretting

Burlington, VT 2006