kite

my life is turning into a kite
I tie cloth in strips
attached upside good god down
its hallow's eve tonight
this kite is too light
its paper stiff-it regroups in
balsa'ed frame; it does
r's in the sky/u's, 3's
in flightpath, 365 days last year
I flew, straight up into the final
bubble, air dead, flashing through
the paper silhouette.
I feel the grain the paper the wood
turned to stone, ten thousand hours
thick with clotting blood
on the kite's long string
flaking off in pieces
like my eyes undone in the
photograph of her face

1980. The period of time where I attempted to recover from my failed and doomed relationship with BF. I remember those days too well. Sometimes I literally hid myself in a closet in the front part of the apartment on South Grand. My emotional life was truly cruel at the time. I had come to realize that Pat really didn't like my work, the raison for my being there. I knew that Becky Bradway was a seriously fucked up person. I was only too clear about how stupid the relationship with Alison had been. And Alison was carrying on with Tony Kallas and seemed to have abandoned me when I needed her. She did however go out of her way to show me I could still get hard for her, if she wanted me to. I guess that was meant as an act of kindness. Hard to say, really.