And so let us begin

There are going to be multiple posts about love, because of V Day, equal in its ominousity to D day. There will be many posts, like little flies, circling the excrement of V Day week.

Post One.
Poem One.

Isn't waiting for someone a way of being with him?
And so too is dreaming about him, thinking of him
Trying to manifest him here with the mere strength of your desire
These too are ways of being with him

He is completely unaware
Out there
Dressed plainly, scratching himself in thoughtless isolation
Whistling, eating food he hardly tastes
Drinking until he is doped enough for sleep
Lifting things and farting in his sleep
Him, out there
Is not the him I have here
caged in my mind.

But my minds him, well, he is always and forever here
So which of the two do I prefer?
You guessed it
My perfect, ordinary man
Who is as much like the real man as a suit is to its hanger.

So I wait
I wait, and at times it is the pleasantness of a train ride
a plane ride, a bus trip
The going to of a place like gentle foreplay
exquisit anticipation of the getting to.

At other times I am a tempest to my own mind
A swarthy savage and writhing tortured in my bed
Sheets gripped in fists and YEAH! I call out
In anguish I call out to the dumb chattels of my musty room
And my room it answers like this:
Pfft.
Because we all know
The empty space, the dark, the bed, the walls and all the dust and I,
We know
That I am sleeping with
In unequivocal love with
Have children and a long, happy future with
My perfect, ordinary, imaginery man

I have gotten all I ever dreamed of:
A dream.