Today we flex our right to romance, this pelvic floor
potential, this pink hooded mobile.
There are documents of this right, founded among the many,
in order, around, and some other slips of tongue.

It seemed that even then, either pyramid or mound,
We needed to measure, take account, write everything down.
To what end, She couldn’t tell.
But She saw what anyone could see, the two hills looked the
same, top to down, but still, and still, and as a result, in these
Institutional-mutuals, agreements, holistic plans and pans,
There became a worm. Beauty held her slither, pre code or
historic, Her plot was Her decision.
The right to romance wept us up in a charm of dialogue.
Some say it continues.

I wanted to meet this anti-star, not the lead per shout but,
The Other Woman, so charming, professional, so under our guard.
I wanted to know. So I drank from the tap. I drank her
mouth and hair and fish seed in pond.
I begged. There’s only one time, She responded. There are
many other women,
She went along, with several lists of verbs, but
Lee Lozano’s was the first.
The worm moved its mouth. Disclaims were made.
Romantic rights moved into ivy, the ease of universities,
with their rock star ambivalence, their confided affairs, the
corduroy couch served them well, and
why not? we ask. why not? they say. why not? we want.
The lawyers could tell.
Now and then a turnt up professor cries out declaring that
we may love as we choose and freely do this thing of the
heart as if there was no matter at larger.

Bored with these sights, I went back to the scape, the pan fed
sacrifice, stairs too high to climb or offer much at all. I found
the opacity of this ritual to move me into a romantic place.
Because like Nora Roberts I can sing a view, to top a down,
or whatever position empowers one in order to two. From
here I summoned them, these popular writers of romance,
even though
We all know
That the account is not the thing,
That her voice died as we took note,
Conjured to me as a chorus, they described her breasts as
pyramids, while
The Other Woman looked far over the hills to a plain spot.

The one where her rivals failed and fell.
Where She manicures her nails.
Where She can breathe and describe beauty in plain day, with
light.

Meeting Notes (2/14/15 18:15)
count to 7
I drank another glass from the tap because I needed to forget
to remember, to move my worm body into ritual, to sacrifice
this privilege, this new awareness of a supposed Other Woman.
I recalled when we fell in love, his wife and I watched from t
he bar as he pricked his fingers twice With fairy tale pride.

He watched us love one another through flaming eyes. He
coached our sprains in his own painted on disappointments.
But still who can judge.
He a teacher, Now me a teacher. Some of my students are
here. Some understand. Some love. Some leave. Because…

Meeting Notes (2/13/15 13:24)
take a drink
My body is worth less.
My body is the same as yours.
And the other bodies? Really? A vendor deep calling. Towards tourists who forgot to purchase their tolerance, so
brave in shame. I’m guessing.
They asked me, so simply, Can we choose so freely this
space? in the hotel where She waited and I stared through
a fold on my knees, naked and begging. He interviewed me
and they were nothing. They are nothing. I am interviewing
you and it is just you and me. The smell was carpet. The taste
marooned. I admitted my soul to a Hyatt monarch. She came
in my mouth twice or three times, I watched the cloth burn
violet pressure, the sockets were full I cried, but we knew
where to find each new wound, She knew how to court every
gap, every lack, every sucked out and in search of.

I’m hole, I’m hired. I heard a jaguar.
and I catcalled back because I needed them to-hear my
desperate play. I wanted to be inside their kitty yawn so I
bought all the skulls I could buy, the woman between, buying
deaths mask, in order to.

Meeting Notes (2/13/15 13:24)
count to 7

Meeting Notes (2/14/15 12:29)
take a drink

Meeting Notes (2/14/15 18:15)
count to 7
Break a safety net.
I wanted them there. I decided to Dom. I returned to blue
bubbled news.
There She was, this how and then, this mother-lover from
past,
Mom as a character, always, and in, new, criminal, and killing
the thing,
that She gave or made,
how sick they scream how wrong they shriek,
the right to romance violated her monthly bleed.
I barely escaped, I lived it again.

Meeting Notes (2/14/15 12:29)
i lived it again

Mom,
yes dear,
how did I get into you alive,
I asked,
I don’t know how She cried, I wanted you out, it was the right
time, because I love you,
you own me I screamed and She looked at me with eyes of pity,
there is no way I can know, not until the curse finds you
empty, She said slowly and calmly.
Look me in the eye and I will tell you what sacrifice means,

it is not me to you,
it is our difference that will save you.
It begged her to feed so that it may warm her hidden parts
with its strange brown flesh.
Like the aliens, who built the pyramids, they had no lips to kiss.
Because it’s true that the first Valentine’s Day was the first
Dom that was Mom and She owned the globe as any mother
should and will and can do and the rest will strip away as
white falls in a
Show storm.
Searching, She held obsidian up to the light, and She
wondered how to validate a parasite.
She asked the curator and the critic, the student and
manager, the husband and the wife. To which nearly each
and all responded,

Meeting Notes (2/14/15 18:18)
count to 7
you have no right.

Meeting Notes (2/13/15 13:24)
count to 3
She wondered how She knows they think She must be
A masochist with her debt and need and contingency
She laughed so loudly in her whispered worm voice, knowing
that every right to love and even a worm soaked and choked,
was hers.
her knowing and showing was of those scraps and corpses.
She laid down on her next and with a pretty whip in her hand,
She laid down to evict the others, and smiled at her choices
because the worm inside of her made love like She wanted.

Meeting Notes (2/13/15 13:24)
her choices
The end.