My mother loves me but not in her heart. So her love is like water leaking from a neighbor’s apartment. As I grow older I see there’s no landlord and I take up amateur plumbing, stanching my mother’s accidental love however I may. Now that’s she’s dead I still hold the wrench—the one missing teeth—the accommodation of deflection will be necessary again. My poor mother, who loved so little. But at least I can embellish the wrench with corn flowers.
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What a thing to be a man-child with corn flowers. I can’t fix anything. But I love wild flowers and celebrate a patch of sun. I love my mother in memory though she was always a darkling disaster.
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I live in a cold, northern city in North America. Though its spring its still snowing. One sees how sad the houses are—like the houses in Neruda’s poems—the houses are suicidal. The crows sail around in their unambiguous death watch.
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New super heroes: Urchin Boy; Cornflower-Cat; Zero-Sum Sister…
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How I wish I could be stronger, that wishfulness compares with peace. I wish for peace. A strange joke, born into a violent and inarticulate world, and wishing for something like grace.
Planet of the Blind 