Memorial to Marilynn

Edward Moore (c) 2014

Ptolemy's planets, playing fast and loose,

Foretell the wisdom of Copernicus.

Dante calls Primum Mobile, the First Cause:

Love that moves the world and the other stars.

~ Vernon Watkins

I.

Sleep arrives in many ways ... its sources manifold, some peaceful, others terrifying ... The direct moment is the nightmare -- that is a promise: everything, it tells you, has been erased, you are starting over! But then you open your eyes to the pale glow of an early morning room, alone, no one to hold, to tickle, to nuzzle, to love.

II.

Do we ever know what we are? I mean that in a utilitarian sense: How am I capable of being a successful human being? Answer: I am not. My face meets me each day, and it ages, only in the eyes. She aged in her soul. My soul is damaged, ravaged, corrupted, taken captive by the sapping monsters of a dream-life ... I never expected that I would love another human being ... So fucking much.

... I never expected to compare all to Her. The ceiling fan that makes my hair messy ... that makes my beer stale ... So I take some Klonopin ... Must sleep. But no Tinder-Box ... Lonliness cannot be assuaged by drugs, no matter how strong.

There were three: a slut, a self-righteous Mother, and a rock-n-roll monster who wanted to fuck behind a diner in a bad part of Philly. I did it all. Felt like shit, and rolled into a gin-soaked bed at 4:00 AM, weeping over my Loss.

III.

Glory! Oh, the shine of eyes, the glint of a smile ... her pretty toes ... smiles real and feigned ... I had a life with her!!! ...

Whatever powers hold sway in the realms above ... whatever emotions echo and reach to the uttermost ends of human worth ... Let me know a bit of them!

... When the sun sets and the melancholy sets in, and I want her voice, whatever is out there, let her know that I do not just love her ... I think of her, daily, and she has apotheosized into an Aeon of my personal Intellectual space.

Direct speech:

Marilynn, you are the Beauty, the Mind, to which I wanted to connect myself, irrrevocably.

I am broken, a fragment ... a shard ... but there is something left ... a little thing ...

A runt of a kitten struggles to follow his mom, and I give him a hand ... Next thing I know, I have a new pet.

No matter how many pieces of my heart I have to pick up, there is a heart left, and it shows.

I hate that you are missing it.

As I miss you.

My Love.