Bolder, then Vermont

I was trying to figure out who I was by staring at the camera, becoming the camera. I had thought about this all day, knowing it was coming and trying to prepare for what I could in no way envision except that I did believe I could come close, I thought what I thought was very good and dear to something there is no comparison to now. How many times to write for the future self or selves and to read it at any point after, especially any time for all the smoke of disbelief and cunning. Always what it is is enough, but seeing myself and the look of knowing this one even as there is only impossibilty over inevitable confusion and obfuscation. Plenty of tits though. I ambushed her from the first time I saw her. I can pick them out. I'm good. I knew she had what I wanted and knew how to use it and, better, knew how to expose it. How to make me look good because I was lookin' at her like that all the time. It's my look and what lie behind it that this one was going to bring out of me and capture at the exact moment I needed it to be for my future, and, I now see, yours. A gift to you what I know as I do as I go along, 'cept I don' look like this at all anymore. I'm younger somehow even as look at this. I know so much less than I did then and care about it so much more. It worries me how much I have that hangs around like I'm a Fresh Kills of myself, heavy. There are creatures of every kind that hang out with me and I am fascinated not only with my reactions to them but to my reaction as I no longer react--just negate. I'm annihilating as I assimilate now. Everything is suspect and nothing is quite real, but my sense of rightness grows. It's a good thing. All of it as I look out, as I see again as I see it and I see that face and it shines.

Cement in chunk in piles of debris

In the body of the night with a shapely glass of rendered wine half-downed and drowsy with the scent of a half-gone woman lingering, I return to the alone and left-off I was before she came, before there was a coming or the thought that there was a starlit veranda somewhere I belonged to but could never seem to find.
I wanted to walk off again. Wanted to be anywhere they couldn't find me anymore and that was in motion. As restless as the sea I've crawled out of dozens of time, I surprised the bottle this time and paid half of what I usually do. I was this drunk two days ago and what had it got me? She broke down in a way I hadn't expected. A hard boiled woman who couldn't last against my wandering finally called in the chit she had coming to her from years ago. It was her father and I wasn't ever going to be that for her, so she choked up in front of the chinese joint and looked up at me, grasped my hand as I passed, spun me.
I saw then there was more than trouble. My hand flickered with the thought that if she opened her mouth I didn't want to hear what was going to come out.
I stepped into her and sucked her tongue into me, held it as long as I could, closed my eyes.