Assembled with Rumi

One day you assembled me with Rumi and yet, you- not the lover- nor the sage
had ever heard of him. That day, I felt

tapping from the inside of my ribcage. I was a shot of jagermeister and a Malibu-pine. Sweet and ridicules. You took a straw and drank

from my spine. “206 bones” you said were in my body. I pushed my mandible to yours, 412 bones I thought. Now, here, with you

I hadn’t expected this. One day you wrapped up persistence. Soft hands. A deer that had escaped a hunter. I like surprises and mornings

with you. Since that day we first slept in. woke. Since that day I’ve seen you wear less than a t-shirt. You had washed your sheets and were dreaming you boarded a train that took you on a direct route to Memphis. To take photo’s of pregnant Mexican women.

I thought of Texas and San Diego and Calexico. But not Memphis. These are only small ways we are different. I thought of deserts and guns. I thought I could do something but did nothing besides think. But she, she and her baby they made it

to Monday morning work days. Are the most difficult. And this weekend was mostly beautiful . As you, are- mostly, beautiful.

One day you tried to unbutton my nerves. You furrowed your brow with the dramatics of the season actor. Looked at me like I was crazy. When cornered like this I think we’re competing for sanity and I refuse to loose. I think I might have cried for a moment but still I don’t think I let you-unbutton my nerves “let’s play darts” I said. You refused, you said that I always won and it wasn’t fun. So I

I tied myself to the fire escape so I wouldn’t fall off. I smoked a cigarette and accidentally started a fire. You cut the rope. We ran pass a herd of horses. It was the most striking thing I had ever seen. You said it was the most striking thing you have ever seen. This is a small way we are alike.

That day you asked if that was the day I was to take my red shoes and red dress and my mascara and used books home from your house. If that was the day I was leaving you.

No, I stayed. That day I told you, I said, “you assembled me with Rumi, have you read him?” you hadn’t but you had.

. . . . . . . . . . . .



Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.

~ Jelaluddin Rumi