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Some people cut themselves to be sure about the living part. If I admit that I know they are there will faith be enough to make me know them? I felt an assurance that what I don’t know now, that what I don’t get in this life, that what I work to know but still only glimpse, is waiting for me beyond a benevolent white line of light. I leave with that breath and ride it like a dandelion seed head blown on the wish of a child. This is a disease for which Western medicine is designed. The problem is that when the appendix gets hole in it, shit rolls out in to the abdomen. He can’t swing through the trailer for a few weeks because of surgery.

Feelings flow through me and I may not know about it. I got no skills with this, but I can’t afford to ignore them. If I continue to ignore them them they take on a weird life of their own, coagulate into threatening clots and force themselves on me. So I am saying that I am wanting the flow, putting it out there, in there. Escutcheon Battle worn and battered and rusted somewhat; the rain affects me more than it once did. One time I thought one thing mattered and that thing gave way, gave way like a diving board pulled from the diver when she was to spring to highest heights, it gave way like that to something else, this other thing, and it was all that I cared about because it mattered more and just when I thought I couldn’t think any more deeply it fell through like an old attic floor and there I was, falling through the insulation again. We are really good at mechanical issues where we can remove the offending organ and support the rest of the body while it recovers. This completely undoes his way to live in the world.

If you are having to live with something, long term, and I don’t have an answer for you, if even and especially if that answer is Death, then we have a problem and it is then that Western medicine feels like algebra in a world of calculus. Come back to me, the surgeon, if and only if you have a knife hanging out of your gut.

Otherwise we are dancing around fires that have smoke but no flame.

This rhythm, this powm/poem/mope can be about you, or maybe this photograph, only not this one because it is a portrait, self.