angel's autopsy

the corpse is still there, hands
and fingers scattered in quadrangles
the corners of what was once
a snow angel::the blood soaks
in to feed the march photosynthesis,
turns its remainder brown
in the fresh green grass::there are
small insects on the flesh
that dance is in the past
you have left this corpse
it is time that acts as a guardian
to heaven's gate

No one passes before eleven

Another round with the Snow Angel. Clearly the image of the dead body represents what I thought of as my love affair with Alison Gaughan. This is from the period where I was avoiding the girl, in 1977-78. Trying to free myself from her charm. Yes, let's use charm here, in the old manner. She charmed me and she would never quite free me from that aspect. When I did get free of her it was only because I literally forced myself to tell her to leave me alone. This was in 1987, when I was first living on Bryn Mawr with Becky Bradway. Alison called me up and tried to get me to join in the game again. That time I said no, finally. I'm sure she wouldn't paint it that way, but that is actually what happened from my end. She's a lawyer in Vegas these days. I'm sure she can talk rings around anything I might have to say. Fuck her. I don't wish her ill, but I know she has plenty to account for in the truth department. Life goes on, until it doesn't.