from Moody’s Pub in Andersonville to her pad,
set in an obscure part of the Loop— the mystery
remains. Stacy had her own obscurity levels to
deal with— the filthy rich minister’s daughter
from Indiana, with a taste for avant-garde lit,
& blonde goddess to boot— who had fallen
in love with my first full-length. There they were,
covering the plush, green-toned flat symbolically,
as I imagine them— the good book & the good
book, the actual bible with the bible I had
penned for her. That, I believe, is the holy
dilemma I would’ve uncovered, maybe roughly,
in that flat. Not in her bed, I would guess—
despite the resemblance to women from my past,
I would’ve received the floor to sleep on. Leading
us off the cliff of the cross & the cross— the one
hung solemnly on her wall, about her childhood,
family, heritage, money— & the one borne in her
heart, which wanted to live as I had with Mary & Abby,
full sensory immersion in a series of present moments.
That’s the key to Stacy’s dilemma, universalizing
the night’s detritus, which would’ve been the same
had I accompanied her home or not. To unify body
& soul is the work of several long lifetimes.
The divided, L-shaped human race cannot conceive
of a reality in which the books are all good.
As a person part text, I held her all night, into the dawn.
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