Groping Toward Catharsis

Another Monday, another late waking, I sleep too much anymore.

Here is my recurring dream: I am standing near an entrance to a cave or dungeon. There is a demon waiting there, and I have to go alone to face him. I am always too afraid. Sometimes I seek out allies (usually elves of some kind); always they turn out to be empty and useless and nothing but twinkling lights. I have to go alone, and I have never been able to.

Question: Is it because I enjoyed Joseph Campbell so much (particularly during formative years when I was shedding my Christianity) that I dream in Jungian archetypes?

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We all have to go into the cave alone.

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Spring in a World a moment; but I am not wholly a fool, a holy fool. Or maybe sometimes syntax is the better fate; and wisdom should be first; but I cannot, holy, kiss you. & "write the saddest lines."

(These poems are little demons that run around the forests of my brain like wild animals -- or are they domesticated, and has my mind become a farm-- milk the e.e. cummings cow & slaughter that lamb se llama Lorca.)

(a shadow at her waste, dances on her balcony -- I watched you melt as I recited. But the past is dead and I ducked out & fled into the Pittsburgh night. & faraway, dreaming dreams of -- revolution, social change.)

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Yesterday I planted a garden but it will not grow. I think. Maybe it will, and we will enjoy a nourishing carrot grown guerrilla-style in the forbidden yard. But I should have read a book about soil first.

(The Yard: Emblematic; the quiet violence of everyday life. Domination democratized; an American dream. Be sure you kill the dandelions.)

I have: Heirloom cornseed, pole-beans, squash. My current quest, then, is a place for a three sisters garden. I was thinking the courthouse lawn.

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I am out of talk, again.