sopping thursday

today was such a ridiculously weird, bad day, and i think it's all because i wore the wrong shoes. it rained all day (but the hardest when I was outside), and when i woke up i was psyched to wear my new rainboots. ALACK, i didn't, and curses.
work was strange, my boss nitpicked me to death for an hour, then everything and everyone at the store was frenzied by super liberal post election auras, but it all just meant that i had to do everyone's stuff when they were too confused by joy to work.
on my lunchbreak, instead of studying for my vikings midterm i got yelled at by my friend for participating in an election i was totally passive about, and decided to participate because of a personal reaction to a candidate, and bills on the state ballot.
i went to class and i think i did horribly on my exam. i was totally rushed on an essay and had to write like a nothing conclusion. it's even worse because i love this class and love this professor, but he was gone to sweden this week and the proctor was some interdepartmental sweater vest wearing t.a.
i hated what i wore all day (why a burgundy mock turtleneck, why, oh why?) and i basically feel like living vomit. if it weren't for swan brooner, i'd fall to pieces.

mine own

Say: to call a word by its indefinite,
interpretations, oscillating and infinite,
which are its eyes and hands;
the eyes and hands of the word.

So now, yellow's every
coward, and each cadmium.
Canary and chrysanthemum.
Each word's its shadows' overlap.

"I" is me, and simple.
"You": you, and everything not mine.
In the discrete definitions of its being,
"we" transcends ourselves, and redefines.

complainte

i cried on sight. i'm going through a rough patch.

***

Light the first light of evening
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.

This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.
It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,
Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:

Within a single thing, a single shawl
Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,
A light, a power, the miraculous influence.

Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.

Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one...
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

tituba

a person gets their heart set on a certain thing