Nobody's creekbed

songs, prayers, poetry, stories, art, photographs, moving pictures, fondnesses, tall-tales and meditations

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The Anterior Insula and Hwy W

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Marriage Document
If I had half a mind

We run from room to room in our too-small home; fleeing, stalking, approaching, evading, demanding; always with the slamming of doors in front of or behind us. The business of harried, apoplectic migration reverberates within this space we finally realize never had definition, boundary or even a right to exist to begin with. And there is nowhere else to go; without this we have no meaning. Endless volley of accusation and apology, declamation and declination, constant-fucking-giving-in, drawing lines loud but vague — this is bad theater we are in, and we are at best amateurs at accomplishing that which needs to be accomplished for this thing to go forward vital and necessary.