EMPIRE.

'All human relations have shifted-those between masters and servants, husbands and wives, parents and children.  And when human relations change there is at the same time a change in religion, conduct, politics and literature'

V Wolfe. 1924

N O N E W Y E A R.

The temperature boasts tepid 

a most exciting adjunct to this new year, 

the weather in Scotland seems the only warm front.

Traditional thoughts could not promulgate a more bitter frost.

There is a mirror to capture my exterior,

to cast the length of my frame, 

anew and ripened for Springs arrival.

Though, my complexion argues, 

its likeness barren.

Worn from winds of a previous locale.

January's mistress emits ennui.

A sexual storm has calmed,  only a light snow lingers,

but the task at hand reflects a thin veneer,

a cerebral black ice. 

This proves to be yet another desire to just slip my mind.

until.

AT WAR.

I am a sap.

Three recognizable characters grazed the screen for a mere 36 seconds.

wet, soaking wet.

There is no rain in my Scotland.

WAR, missing warmth.  

Summer stings, his hot breath .

The film finished, the theater roared, 

unaware, unaccompanied.

I hold my own hand, silently.

I am a sap.

The night licks my hot cheeks, I brake the bottle on the castle walls.

I walk along side her volcano, I profess my love, 

wasted on rocks, on hills and meadows.

I am gothic, numb as black lips. black tongue.

I want to mirror her, the undying, undeniable charm.

she is strong.

Instead, I embarrass myself.

I am a sap.

I spit in the sink of a strangers pale blue bathroom.

I watch the violinist with hunger, his socks match his shirt.

I count eyelashes, prominent and beautiful, though his words don't resonate.

A lover kisses his mouth, I am quietly enraged.

I steal cigarettes, I reapply lipstick repeatedly.

I prowl and prance, I ask to see his bedroom.

I fall asleep next to a man whose name I don't remember.

He holds me, we freeze, 

the embrace, lulling.

I am a sap.

I wake, 

in sheets I've never seen.

 lights on, bra off.

I piss, I eat a croissant. I use his ex's lipgloss.

I take pictures of his typewriter.  

Ten minutes spent trying to open the door to the main road,

his neighbor finds me, drunk, on God's day.

bemused, disoriented, I can't find home.

Daylight casts a hideous shadow.

so, I sleep until it's dark again.

I am a sap.

with no method to mayhem.

this is all I know 

of war,

ME VERUS ME VERUS ME VERUS ME.

coexistence.

just fine.

today, I wrote a letter,
the first of many.  
It took me a single try to convey fullness,
frugality of ink,
celibacy for the greater good, 
a higher power
idle is love.

93 days, 
count them on your fingers
your toes.

Sometimes FOREVER would be too SOON

though, tomorrow would do.