Open a window, dears.


“I can write” — a rung, gripping a rung out of nowhere on the slide to the psychosis of the bedazzling World conspiring always to teach me.  A fall from Irony, which is iron-y.  Which is letting go of the wrung?  That rung?  Because once I have the riding the writing — I no longer need the grasp — it is my ride.  Green from the dead reaches out to me, betrays itself.  A black blonde Innana upside down gazes lovingly at me with a secret.  I have never been accused of evangelism — and yet I feel it will burst from me, the fluttering angel trapped in that word, the word that must.

I dreamed gold dust, that was Mom’s body.  In a baggie like a drug, it looked like cornmeal.  Stone ground love, I’m telling you.  (I’m telling you, Coyote Marie.)  (Mom was the first to call me that.  Thinking too how Marie (Baird) was like her second mother.  I am filling up: remember!  Remember the emptiness.  This is why one needs an anchor?)  If I can’t hold it I will fill — I am being fairly good about that.  (C Avergae?  Maybe B.  I realized that about myself: I am always being schooled.  Now I am my own mirror.)  For dinner, roasted yellow and green bell peppers stuffed with smoked cheddar tomato wild rice risotto.  With orange juice — should be a mimosa.  Should be followed by berry sorbet.  Should be Sunday.  Food an anchor.

What is an anchor, for me now?

It should be

It is physical, it has a body.

It channels love.

It is sustainable.

(are anchors made of iron?)

It is beautiful.

It is me.

(Everything else is port of call.)


Last night the insomnia carpenter trip.  Who’s Jesus now?/!  One big joke / laughing stock.  How did I forget the kill time voice?  Really.  I didn’t forget — I only just stepped out of her.  At some point these paltry mes will lift free of chronology and tell a new time.  It looks like a gear shift.  How are these things so mechanical — I understand we needed technology to give us these metaphors, but I pray the metaphor will shift again and the World is not some bicycle chain hooked to a brain.  Not just some fractal infinity of circuits.  I couldn’t sleep for seeing all levels of levels of lifetimes celled and breathing in some cosmic-mitosis freeze-frame.  I suspect you cannot go up or down enough to find the seat of consciousness, to speak all metaphors.  I suspect we are it, in the unfolding.  I suspect we sail and wreck upon it and

[  open a window dears ]

it rides us, we are its anchors.  We give it place, we give it love, we give it who what where why how.

Made flesh.

It gives us story.  We give it song.


1. any of various devices dropped by a chain, cable, or rope to the bottom of a body of water for preventing or restricting the motion of a vessel or other floating object, typically having broad, hooklike arms that bury themselves in the bottom to provide a firm hold.
2. any similar device for holding fast or checking motion: an anchor of stones.
3. any device for securing a suspension or cantilever bridge at either end.
4. any of various devices, as a metal tie, for binding one part of a structure to another.
5. a person or thing that can be relied on for support, stability, or security; mainstay: Hope was his only anchor.
6. Radio and Television. a person who is the main broadcaster on a program of news, sports, etc., and who usually also serves as coordinator of all participating broadcasters during the program; anchorman or anchorwoman; anchorperson.
7. Television. a program that attracts many viewers who are likely to stay tuned to the network for the programs that follow.
8. a well-known store, esp. a department store, that attracts customers to the shopping center in which it is located.
9. Slang. automotive brakes.
10. Military. a key position in defense lines.

I hadn’t considered number 7.

” Till that my nails were anchored in thine eyes. –Shak.”  Whoa.

Anchor is its own word.  “Anchor” has always meant anchor.  It is the only Latin nautical word used in germanic languages.


~ by Arrrow Marie on March 24, 2009.

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