Alexandrin
The rare moment I write within constraints
Once again I walk home from Bushwick only this Time I am trying to figure out how to write Silence. I am turning over the question. Where Do I get the inspiration from? My life. I was left Alone for a long time with it. Tess and I talk About farting in front of the Other, how to Announce the fart as a declaration of truth And how those outcries are perversely a way of Loving. They say: Here it is and here I am. Fi And I spoke, too, about trust. About how our cries Which mark uncertain bonds Are themselves love. Did you Get that? Our willingness To communicate our Doubt together with some Hope is the kind of love That cannot die because it is a gift. We are All waiting to hear the truth, whatever it is. So Mario and I speak, and find we are not Comfortable with silence. But sometimes the next thing Hasn't arrived. And in that lonely space, farting? Stay with me. Trust. That's the thing. There's a mystical Silence in loving which is to tell yourself, they've Got me. They know. And it is also to know that Just like me, they have no idea. It's both. I'm An artist because I cannot shut up. And I Look at you carefully. I remember. Time tells.