If You Must Hide Yourself From Love
By Christopher Salerno
It is important to face the rear of the train
as it leaves the republic. Not that all
departing is yearning. First love is
a factory. We sleep in a bed that had once
been a tree. Nothing is forgot.
Yet facts, over time, lose their charm,
warned a dying Plato. You have to isolate
the lies you love. Are we any less
photorealistic? I spot in someone's Face-
book sonogram a tiny dictum
full of syllogisms. One says: all kisses come
down to a hole in the skull,
toothpaste and gin; therefore your eyes
are bull, your mouth is a goal.
I stayed up way too late watching the shitshow unfolding in Iowa, and although I'd thought I'd successfully gotten all the yay-Bernie-no-anyone-else faux Democrats off my feed months and months ago, I discovered I was wrong. So I am tired and cranky and despairing, though of course I had the good sense not to watch the State of the Union tonight except The Daily Show's wrap-up and all my love is for Nancy Pelosi.
It was not a very eventful day anyway: apart from going out to get bagels, and taking a walk around the neighborhood to enjoy the still-gorgeous unseasonably warm weather, I didn't do anything besides laundry, chores, a little bit of writing, and some bead and earring repurposing. Did I mention that I had to spend time hiding from the stupid and removing myself from Twitter for my blood pressure?
Avoiding SOTU, we watched The Flash (needs more humor but has several new smart women) and Legends of Tomorrow (fun and funny, awesome characters and Bugsy). Then we caught up on The New Pope, which would have been worth watching just for the slalom-around-crosses skiing scene! Now I'm watching Crazy Ex-Girlfriend because I can't cope with infotainment. Great Falls on Sunday: high river, drained canal: