'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

another long day

People's mothers are dying, or one just did and another's soon shall, plus the mothers of others, the others' mothers.  People's mothers are dying, and I think I had a long day.  Part of my long day was about a dying mother.  People's mothers are also having birthdays, and people's dead fathers had this birthday, and it's pushing midnight again, and here I am.  Blew off the maybe-was-gonna, did some hanging instead, just a bit, had some food in there, I dunno, Manny sure is being Mr. Cuddly, and I am old, oh that's right.  The Detroits were down to the Oaklands 2-0 when I put the dog to bed and retired to this chamber.  I do not know whether I will keep any shoes this time.  Goofy footwear is still to come, but the odds are against it, though I find it really appealing, in the pictures, in the pictures in my head, in the picture of the ends of my legs below the knees in my head.

Is it blue or is it green?  Blue and green are hard to tell.  Names for blue, Pantone 292, cultures always name red first, and blue no not blue so soon, blue last,  what, all of them?, yes, wikip linguistic relativity and the color naming debate, but hey, many languages don't have separate words for green and blue, and when they do it's often fuzzy and maybe they switch around what color that is, and it's always that hunk of the spectrum with respect to which people argue with me about whether for inst a turquoise is blue (I'm saying yes) or whether my car is purple (I say no).  Bert suggests a gendered biological aspect.  Beth and I talk of Tracy's "sage" having leaned it green, cuz that's a plant.  They do not match, but they go, says Shelly, not Percy Bysshe, he had another e anyway, no I mean our Shelly, not roller derby bowling Shelly, not Silverstein, you know.  Shelly of the daytime family that Jesus is along with the gig and its renumerations so much of the world to me, lifeline, that kind of thing, s.t. I don't even like to think about what if not.

A point of reference, in other matters, I seem to have come up with out of my well no let's not say my ass let's say thin air, though it's not thin air, is Denise, or rather the aftermath of Denise.  Not about color.  Not about Leos with manes born on August 21, mothers or not, not dying and having birthdays.  And then there's how it's hurting me, or is it, am I acclimating, I sort of am acclimating, becoming acclimatized, here in my old age, okay not to that, hunh wtf, my left armpit itches.  It's time to tend to my fake-world airplanes.  And then lie down.  And then lie down.

When I close my eyes, what I will see, will it be those semi-taut curves on the top of the head, mostly I smelled those, felt the tickle on my nose and lips, I think no you know why cuz it will be, or already is, them kids crossing the street, Liberty in front of me, smack-dab midday, the first 35 in bouquets of pajama pants under their coats, and 2 grown women playing along, then dozens a little older in mostly jeans, which are blue, blue jeans, they go back to the old west but can't be that old, since they're blue.  All those kids, so far from dying, so far from knowing of so much.  In their pairs and clusters, having their downtown day.  And you are not lying down, Lisa.  You are sitting up, Lisa.  Earth to Lisa.  Lisa to Lisa.  Lisa.
Tags: poetry

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