"So the Mind, Like a Gate, Swings Open,"
is the title of this poem.
"So the Mind, Like a Gate, Swings Open."
"When it comes to what, eventually, it must come to,
don't forget to say to yourself, has it come to this again
already?
Look a little lost, maybe, but unsurprised.
Sometimes, it feels like a carousel horse
but with all the paint gone strange-like.
All the wood gone, driftwood.
All the horses I've corralled inside me set free,
confused now.
Because now, what?
The snow fell like hope when it's been forsaken just
before the wind shifts.
Then the wind shifts, the snow flies upward.
I love you means what, exactly?
In the end, desire may turn out to be no
different from any other song.
Sing and be at last, released from it.
Not so long ago as I'd like to think,
I used to get drunk in parking lots with strangers.
We park.
We drank and didn't think what to call it--
the rest that came after.
What is the thing like that worth calling?
He took me into his arms.
He held me.
I know longing's a lot like despair.
Both can equal everything you've ever hoped
for if that's how you want it.
Sure.
I get that.
What's wrong with me?
I used to ask but usually, too late and not meaning it anyway.
He touches me or I touch him or don't.