scattered

how many little lives we live in our little lives.

let me forget
let me be lost



I laid in the bathtub tonight listening to H.D.'s cracked and lovely voice reading to me her helen in egypt, and thought of H.D. imagining more lives for helen, and then of H.D. imagining. yesterday I thought of morning glories, what happy-sad flowers, and what a gesture to offer someone morning glories, like roses or sunflowers but sadder, to give someone a blue flower too delicate even to live. I thought of lots of other things besides, what engenders cruelty, emotional ahimsa, regret, fifties dialects, bathtub bubbles.