My Love

1 It is not easy to be free. What was I saying last week about liberty? I have found with a pen and willingness to constantly revise I can usually surprise the page with something never said before. 2 Moon River, I sing, to please and yet ease self-consciousness my romantic nature, we’re after the same rainbows’s end. 3 If a woman prefers a man who doesn’t need her, therein his strength lies, and her subservience shows true. Given this instinct of the pressed psyche, how would a man who needs love to ever find it, or a woman with strength to demand her own? 4 In the woods the primal function of the imagination is clear: to climb down the bank to the left and cross the stream from rock to log, jump, and and then catch that branch. However, when practical concerns are less pressing one imagines solutions to less tangible needs: “I love you” I would say, if one were here to love, and loved me too. 5 I want to be freely encumbered with you, to indulge in the rich existence of our desires, to encrust ourselves in the range of senses. But it’s not easy. It’s not easy to be free. 6 Mold grows freely on the pot and robs the roots of air. 7 Not only is the world-oppressed psyche fearfully against the risk of accepting fairy-tale love, but the world itself is too accidental for the requirements of the plot. Where does boy meet girl? I look for metaphors and I only see what lies before me: window, letter, a pile of books, an unmade bed.

4-10 July 1980