Memory Sleeps In The Bone Marrow

I believe I could be in love with a compromised man.

Bundled up with the ached of my history, this
Is truly ridiculous. the long low plundering
of a common farce--

In bed, talking,
It isn't like that, she doesn't care

These mishaps are my folly.

The pothos are thirsty and all I can think of
Is why I would ever love a man who could never have me.

I often think of when Seth married. I was on a hill looking
Over a field of sheep, and the mantra then was this

Or this: I am being left, I am being left
And the sheep cried to me, and I ran down,
Rolled up my pants and threw my shoes off

I got the hose to give them water.