"Stop leaving," someone told me.

N, gosh, I miss you. I hope yr Thanksgiving was as lush as ours here in the PDX. I stole a line from you: you sent me a message saying (almost) that you wished that I was doing what you were doing to you. I fucking love that. How reflexive! How beautifully mutilating! (Actually, that's kind of a good line too: beautiful/mutilate) So I stole it. Hope you don't mind!

I went to Arizona, the home of the Sidewalk Slammer, the Big Tempeasy. Seventy-five degrees, palm & cactus, the sun! O the sun! I thrive off of it. To know that a large part of my heart, my formation of my Self, the people I love the most, are there, though I probably will never dwell there again, is a daunting & positively startling reality. My trip shook me up a bit, in that it reinvigorated my desire for It All, for a true romance, knowledge, a thirst that can never be quenched, but the chase to be quenched is the glory, the romance. How reflexive! Just like yr beautiful line. I'll leave you to gargle this jumble of jumbo jargon. I love you, pal. I leave you, also, with a collection of words & lines that are not yet a poem, but I like the combinations of them. Perhaps we can talk more about it, and make a more comprehensive thought

Sweat piddle

Windy'd curtain

Stop leaving

Crumbs scrapes remain

Sing to a no not now

jejune sunrise

Crisp palm sway

Arms up up

above the globe

Stay me

Do the things I do to me