magical mare, bloody bad boy

March 24, 2022

I’ve completely over Constable and Femme.

The memories I have of the way they treated me are embarrassingly inconsiderate and selfish. This breakup, despite the torment of it, is a relief. I’m glad to be living alone, free of Constable’s possessiveness and emotional unavailability, of seeking to be claimed by him and feeling rejected and locked out constantly.

I’m relieved to be free of Femme’s inability to empathize and to finally no longer be treated by my partner as, above anything else, a threat to her relationship with someone she loves and respects more than me.

I do miss the children, but now I have more privacy and more energy for joy and dreaming.

The grief Magician left in the wake of our divorce has finally lifted, and I’m ready to pass from the dark night of the soul into the light of rejoicing.

/

There are curses in this poem for my darling
bloody bad boy.

This evening spent in the honey of my amorous body
requires no company.
Company devolves into mediocre sex, the death of my old diadem.

My head is in the clouds where my steed makes its rounds
and rainbow light shines benevolently upon us.

Atop my magical mare, I peer into the violent whorl.

Our minds are ripe, peeled, unquartered, un-austere, un-Protestant,
and we watch over our stately secrets, trotting about, tending to the wildness,
whispering to the shadow imps and psychonauts.

/