march started/hysterotic

Listen, I know it started, I had things, I had things going on.  There were people and these things that I was doing with these people, and some of these things took longer than others, and some of them didn't take very much time at all, and some of them took a long time but it felt short because it was so nice and then it was gone and then it was this again, walking in this again, moving in the world dragged from below by hot metal in between the legs and a rumble and a noise that matched the thing that growls when it misses that thing that it loves the most in the world.

And listen, if I had my wherewithal, I would rearrange things, beginning with the always already written history of my heart, and I would make this very road beneath my head the one true love, the thing that I love to love the most in this world, because the road will never go away, and I will never be away from it when I go away, but always together, like we were born to know each other.  Things like that, birth and knowing and twin fingerprints and stars, they make this heavy, just heavy enough to stay on the road and not float into the ether and disappear.  Because I have that.  It's one of my problems.  Floating away.  I do that.  Some people are born to fall, and I fall, but I was born to float, and I do that, too, and that's more dangerous, because on some of these mornings, I am almost sure that the next time I float will be the time that you lose me forever.  It's not what I want.

But March, listen, this is March, and not historical, but entirely erotical, and it might be even likely that it's a little of both, because February was so short and wants to continue.

This is hysterotic.  No wonder no wonder.

And when talking about hystery and arrowticking, and things that are short and want to continue....oh my oh my oh my, not that again, no no not that again.

But yes why not this month is erotic, and this will start by talking about the body, and will stay in the body, the body will move the thought, and the thought will slide backwards and forwards like a wet moment in time that gets wetter as it moves through time and begins to beckon something hidden, something hidden and obvious that wants to come to the light to see the light to spill itself out in the light, that place where her hands are on you or on herself and it's hard to know which and doesn't matter which her hands are in her hands and they're moving and everything is about to turn so suddenly finally about to turn.

And that's why this could be a place to escape the head, and the things it wants to say, about the way we used to be, back when we were pacicetus (pakicetii?) and halfway between dog and fish, or better between wolf and whale, and if that were true, then we might remember something more, something that would pull us all too far back into february again, and it's impossible to go back to february again until next time around, so I will see you the next time around, and we can share lists of times that wolves and mermaids came into our beds and tried to drown us in our sleep and we woke up with a strange heart that was charmed and so heavy that it was almost impossible to wake up at all, and compare the wrinkles on our hands, the fingerprints that hold the water of a year, and still match, even in February, even in March, when we are calm, settled, mystical, hysterotical. 

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