Yes, this was a search that reached my little corner of the internets. I’ve been wondering what type of bum is in question here. anywho…
She isn’t sure why, but lately, she is drawn to men with scraggled, dirty beards touching their chests. She longs to pull each piece of debris from the wiry hairs there. Whenever she passes a man on the street with a will anything for food sign, she has to stop herself from making an offer. She imagines how the man in a tobbogan cap and military jacket, holding a bottle in a paper bag with one hand and holding his penis in the other as he pees on the wall would look naked, sprawled on her crisp white sheets. Last week, she got drunk and kissed the bum who was sitting on the stoop beside the bar. He grabbed her ass in a most satisfactory way and tasted sour. Afraid of what might happen next, she turns to google…
A search that found me. I thought about someone wanting to know something about integrity. Not just a definition, but what would be happening to them that integrity was a question. I thought of a non-thief thief. Why? This is her prose poem:
I’m not sure any more what integrity is. I know it isn’t writing a blog while you are at work. I know it isn’t spending your time waiting. I know it isn’t needing someone else to tell you what is right. This morning, I found a littel doll with a scuffed up face on the sidewalk outside my apartment. Was it intergrity that made me pick it up, put it in my truck, and drive? Who was I to save her, she was not mine. One day, with shower water pelting down upon our scalps, you told me that my personal life was no longer mine. You had shared it in order to save a friend. Thats when I knew I’d never be important again. This doll, left in the cold, face scuffed, she is me I’m saving.
A searcher found me with this
I’ve written poems about casual sex,
but I’ve never been successful at
having it. It always turns into
something more painful, something
more joyus than casual. The idea
of taking someone inside me and then
walking away as though I had just
cast off my blankets is appeailing
but impossible because I know another way.
She followed the dierctions beneath the squares
with pictures of a woman in thick black outline
and pastels. She lie on her back, she warmed
her fingers, and, with fingertips close together,
she slowly probed her breast in circles from
the outside in. She couldn’t help but think
of how her mother told her not to touch
herself like that when she was in fifth grade
and her breasts were pushing at her shirts
and she would reach up beneath them
to jiggle the new fat. Now, there
are little pamphlets to help her learn
how to do this thing she was told not to.
Oh, dear searcher,
What is it you need
help with? Would you like
to avoid the attachment, would you
like to avoid the pain that is sure
to come, even if love lasts forever
there is always some twist, something
to endure. You could be braver
than that, you could be asking
for help with the deed, a push into
a spiraling, Alice fall, head over
heals over head over knees.
Before you ask, be sure you know
what you are asking for.
For the first time in months, a search that is worth it…
Start with moonlight, with greek
food, with holding hands and trucks
stuck in in knee deep snow. Next,
scrambled eggs thick with cheese,
fresh baked bread, secret sign language
messages. Fold in promises, a pinch
of planning, and a silver ring. Remember:
happens when it wants to.
seriously, I can’t even come up with any reasons as to why someone would search for this. I hope they found something worth while.