Friendships float through my life like autumnal leaves on their way to somewhere else; somewhere I can’t follow. It can get kinda lonely out here, but do you see my lying down? Do you? No you don’t. I have learned not to listen to what others say about who I should be.
*
You ever heard of Erectile Dysfunction?
Well, I hadn’t… till then…
But it reminded me of Sunday morning marital obligations washed down with a champagne breakfast.
And I understand now why his wife was always crying,
Nite-times,
rolled up on her side of the bed like an
Unborn, thinking
it was her fault,
when it wasn’t. Thinking:
he’s giving it to that black bitch!
When he wasn’t.
Thinking I don’t know what:
I’m too old…
I’m not sexy anymore…
thinking all the wrong things because it probably suited him to let her believe they were true.
Don’t cry.
He told me he loves you.
Whatever that means.
from Mut@tus:
He wanted something different. She wanted the same: as herself. Time would see to the rest… A voracious depiction of liberty, goaded by a click of the mouse; at times a war cry, at times a wry embrace of the female quotidian.
‘Sheer beauty as was Henry Miller at his most liberated.
(Authonomy)
‘Written with courage, honesty, originality and artistry.’
(Authonomy)
available at bookstores including:
Waterstones
Joan Barbara Simon Author 