sidebrow

No Excuse for the Tension of a Possible Storm



New Orleans, June 3, 2005


Dear S.


Blue glowing squares at 3am. Wet streets sure to turn up French-braided come Sunday dawn. And the fish, so energetic!


My one friend/neighbor arrested. MJ sales and possession. Between the last gardening job and this one Christian, God has let there be too much light.


Love,

M.



New Orleans, June 18, 2005


Dear S.


That sounds exactly right: church made out of what looks like nothing when sober. Can understand the hallucinogenic, the sequencing of everything—talented dancers, packed S&M.


That part that would have been self-consciousness was damaged. Watch and see how men think. Close to home something bigger was coming. No excuse for the tension of the possible storm.


I miss you.


Love,

M.



New Orleans, July 6, 2005


Dear S.


A different regret every night—and afterwards. Just the time getting past. I listen to the men and she talks. Together, we are a whole person. Alone, I am a cold, flat. I can see why they mind.


Surreptitious faking. Muddy because everyone uses. So many possible loves flickering. Each one wants to weave his own pattern into the rug.


But how can I practice this Southern Belle thing without you?


Love,

M.