the puzzle of me
is the puzzle of women,
for they are me.
even my children,
men both,
are the product of
me-women.
what a delightful miserable puzzle,
running in a circle like
a-dog-with-can-on-its-tail.
I run run.
I chase chase.
I am pursued / pursue / pursued.
and great joy
in that shiny tin can,
just can't quite be
caught.
cause if
I got it,
what then?
I'd just kick that old dented piece of
tin hearted-less man
down a *****, black topped, summer city street.
so does the puzzle's solution
want for solving,
in the not-knowing
is the knowing
women are me.
they hold my answers,
to what - to all - to I don't know.
there are so many women.
there is so much to know.
so many solutions
to the puzzle of me.
~~~
August 6, 1993
Mykonos, Greece
twenty three
years long,
the hands suggest,
the heart demands,
the chest heaves,
after a stumbled upon re-read,
asking and answering,
more precisely
once asked,
now answered?
the most satisfying solution proffered,
a humble and most humbling,
more yes than no.
imagine a jig saw puzzle,
of infinite views,
depending on a perspective,
maddening and mysterious,
tortuous and terrifying,
wondrously wonderful,
this no,
that yes,
as time demands
movement, modifications and
self-awareness revisionism.
you try on women,
as they try you too.
this, not a trumping misogony apology,
for women
are
still and always
the only solution,
for me.
then one day,
marveling miraculous,
a second skin,
so thin you wear it
as art of your own,
and the painter,
and the poet,
find themselves,
contented best,
with but one
subjective perspective.
the answer is subtle.
woman.
one woman.
e becomes o,
a subdivided man,
an e,
becomes an
o.
~~~
Mar. 25, 2016
NYC