Reasons To Love Foolishly

Snared in the net of your smile, I shook off reason like a bitch shaking off pond water, the stick in her mouth; or like a shark, hungry for the blood's rich chum. "Here!", I said, "take my bones and I wove myself into the fabric of your impish eyes, my flesh fattening with the fruit of tomorrow.  But, oh, those Irish eyes were always running on ahead. So you planted your reasons in me, 1,2,3, then vanished from the furrow, leaving me collapsed, a skyscraper in smoldering ruins. Later, in another woman's arms, you died, a tide pulled back from my shore by the moon of the blood that goes where it will. "No.", you said, turning from me. Body logic:  Yesterday, in a place we never were, 4 ferocious pounds of female reason was born, the 22nd link in a branching chain you could not break. "Yes!", she says. She is full of your reasons, full of my reasons, full of her own reasons. Listen, Lad!  The period you set in the script punctuated my soul like the stone of Gibralter, and this is the conundrum: The brain must now reject the notion of error, but the spirit is dumb.  It turns itself to the wall, carrara marble, an unfinished statue in the afternoon light, shaped by Michelangelo, the sculptor, dead. Written February 5th, 2002 © on Feb 05 2002 11:30 AM PST, Carole Dudley   0 • 20 • 8