Section Eight
by Daniel Davis Clayton
Dear Beloved-
Listen, I’m not complaining,
But I thought the point of being a poet was
to analytically evaluate sullen situations and create contemporary
commentary according to the laws of a natural state of peace
and since this piece is borderline war time I thought perhaps
I’d deviate from such said accepted outlines of instructed
evaluations. Wouldn’t
you agree that I’m not complaining,
it’s just that I’m aware that our love affair had dwindled down to next to nothing and there’s something about keeping appearances before others eyes when there’s despisement between the two involved to be resolved and I’m curious as to whether you even care that our nosy neighbors are noting the negativity in our voices when the conversation visits on our alternating visions and investments, that’s all I’m saying.
I mean, I’m not complaining,
I know how hard you’re working on reconciling reparations from our past interactions.
And the effort you’ve put into piecing together
the compound fractions in the bones of our home which harbored
thugs you saw so fit to remove.
There’s something about a structure unglued and
misconstrued, rudely awakened in the night by the riders which
were your Christian kisses keeping katabasis movements mandatory.
I couldn’t rest long enough or sleep straight
to have the clarity to create a think tank that could perhaps
alleviate the seriousness of our dire situation. But then again what are thoughts and peacekeeping
promises in lieu of immediate actions of intimidation? Watts/Iraq. Brick City/of-Angels.
Don’t get me wrong baby, this is not
a complaint
just maybe we should separate for a short
period for pondering.
I’m wondering if outside intervention should
be a condition of our impending union, I mean, you’ve
never loved me. We
shared communion and that’s as close to a confession
I’ve had but I’m learning your lessons well.
It’s probably inconceivable for you to imagine
immaculate reciprocation of your own tactics.
It’s not that I want to but I’ve taught
myself your own schematics, blueprints whereas I am unaware
of the process of moving forward without the continuity
of conflicts in our caressments. Yes, perhaps I should pull my economical investments which
you’ve grown greedy upon and sarcastically shake your
head when you see our situation post December 25th indications
that I’ve spent too much frivolously on the foundations
of our fornication and now can’t pay my belated bills.
I’m not complaining,
just a little disappointed that you deem
yourself the anointed. I remember you when I was at my pinnacle.
It was 1960 something and you came in jumping up and
down gallivanting around my own destruction (and we were doing
so well then). It
was called methamphetamine and you had me hooked on heroin
and hemp angel-dusted and thus adjusted to your specifications.
You said I could make money and get high to feed my
family until members annually fell victim to your vindication
and it took me three decades to realize your repercussions
were dissimilar to my own. You had some sort of lawful resistance, and doubled your insistence
that once again I could not handle normal forms of recreation
and that is why we could never be together.
My intention is not to complain
about your verbal distain of my education. You crafted your own evaluation which
did not reflect my intelligence and stated my scores were
irrelevant. Bad mouthing me to all your friends and
what do you know. Your
love’s been pseudo and you’re stating that I’m
playing dangerous games on a high horse of which I may fall. But I fell before you long ago beseeching all of your infidelity.
And I told you that I would put everything behind me
if we could just kiss and make up so you made up even more
misinformation about my hazy past and publicized me as a lazy
ass who had no intention of fighting your unfounded verbal
assault fabrications. And it’s funny that a donkey doesn’t
fully represent me anyway although they called my grandfather
Mule since I could recall.
And its all antidotical but I’m not the one who’s
laughing at your matching of monkeys with my molecular makeup.
I thought you loved me more than to participate in
such foolishness my dear.
But I’m a dummy,call me crazy, but weren’t you the one who told me
we should have an open relationship based on freedom to chose
and do whatever we wanted as long as there was no disrespect
but I suspected trickery in your intentions even then.
I was a slave to your every whim and you gave me just
enough to sustain my neediness. The first time we broke up you didn’t
want to let me go and even my cousins in California knew two
years before me. Perhaps
Texas was running on C.P.T.
but you courted your way back into my life after I
finally gained independence of your life-time sentence. Oh, how you’ve stooped to conquer
and I stand somber before you’re harshest judgments. But I’m not complaining. I’m just tired. You know, I still love you.
Even if our relationship requires revolution.
Warmly,
-Daniel
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