"I love you and I love you and I love you my love feels so broad it could encompass the whole world," spreading her arms, she said. Tracing the fingerwebs of the spiderwebs untended, pulling apart the seams to see the things, unmended...
When the salt shaker fell off the table the woman began to speak. She was knitting a sweater. I looked away so she would keep talking. She told me the story of her life. We exchanged small glasses of russian vodka. The sweetheart held his cognac over the flame. He leaned under the table to eat spring lamb in secret. The lamb was undercooked. I only had a bite because it tasted old. I hid my reaction so he wouldn't disbelieve me. I nodded with satisfaction when he got sick. He didn't heed the warning I didn't give.
The next day we awoke with blood on our lips. I made small talk, "I like the taste of blood." A crow was in the room. The beak was large. Machine-like, we bundled up in wool. I put my hand over my shoulder to touch the back of his head. We sidled up close and shuffled together. Our legs were separately bound. Snow and bandages kept getting in my eyes.
"If we live together one day I might grow to dislike you", said the corner of his mouth. The wind took the words away. I didn't ask if I'd heard him correctly. I looked at him. He was blinking. I became two people. I felt everything though the top horizontal layer over there. My body walked uninhabited. Projecting empathy, I kept my feelings to myself. The little hurtful things were on me. I fled without realizing it.
I was nailing two by fours across my front door. The nails were special. I used them over and over again. When they weren't holding something together they were wrapped in cloth with a tarot deck that I would pray to. The nails kept melting every time I hit them. The points became flat and dull. I gave up. I ate the nails. The lumber fell. I thought of your luminous smile. I forget something. I can't hold both things in my mind at once. This makes me guilty of something.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
four small pieces of two by four nailed together to make a square
"You'd think the narcissist would protect the mirror image..." mulling about, moving more in spirit than in body. The dark passageways that felt so real were not the surroundings on the material plane. "When I was given to them, they chiseled me too hard." more digging, bending in the dirty enclave. "Ok so I get it. I will just hide under your arm, right here. I will only breath your breath. I will only look at you. I will be another face for you. We will shine with blood when we look at people and if they aren't overcome they will run away."
So it went that way for many years. There was a pact. There were secrets told and the deep magenta rift was formed. At first it was just a crack but then it blackened, widened, and spread veins like a poison between me and the rest of the world. You looked clear yellow but there was always that smell of orange getting into the tincture. I didn't believe my perception. I thought it was a delusion, but many years later my sibling told me he'd smelled it too.
It was all pervasive, sickly sweet. It would have seemed dark red and sticky except you were clear yellow and we grew around you. We tried to be green. That was your favorite color. I wonder if it still is.
Every time I went up or down the stairs I touched the bannister in the same way. When I went to school I would walk backwards with my eyes rolled up in my head. People could only see the whites (so they knew that I was roadkill and a zombie). I collected plants that kill. I hid them in paper and plastic in my locker. I would trudge through the mud in my heels. Warm clothes are itchy so I would pretend I was somewhere else and wear string bikinis under my only pair of levis, kid size 12.
There were separations everywhere. The biggest one ran through me. It was like the ghost in my room. At night a pillar of cold would run through the center. I dread walking through it so after I turned out the light with my hand against the wall I would make my way through the dark with my knuckles. The outside shell was visible but inside were my eyes. I would always spare you from these eyes. We huddled around you in a pyramid. I had rocket launchers and grenades and I used them, cast nets, dispersed mines... For years after you left me I was still doing that. I kept looking for another arm to hide under but the missiles wouldn't let anyone get too close. Anyone who did found the surface to be invulnerable like glass.
Underneath, the silvery parchment was thin. If you looked up close you could see the heartbeat in the neck. The skin was hot and quivering to the touch, underneath the glass. I made a plea for connection. No one could hear me. If answers came back they didn't make sense. Sometimes I talk in little words but not now, maybe later.
So it went that way for many years. There was a pact. There were secrets told and the deep magenta rift was formed. At first it was just a crack but then it blackened, widened, and spread veins like a poison between me and the rest of the world. You looked clear yellow but there was always that smell of orange getting into the tincture. I didn't believe my perception. I thought it was a delusion, but many years later my sibling told me he'd smelled it too.
It was all pervasive, sickly sweet. It would have seemed dark red and sticky except you were clear yellow and we grew around you. We tried to be green. That was your favorite color. I wonder if it still is.
Every time I went up or down the stairs I touched the bannister in the same way. When I went to school I would walk backwards with my eyes rolled up in my head. People could only see the whites (so they knew that I was roadkill and a zombie). I collected plants that kill. I hid them in paper and plastic in my locker. I would trudge through the mud in my heels. Warm clothes are itchy so I would pretend I was somewhere else and wear string bikinis under my only pair of levis, kid size 12.
There were separations everywhere. The biggest one ran through me. It was like the ghost in my room. At night a pillar of cold would run through the center. I dread walking through it so after I turned out the light with my hand against the wall I would make my way through the dark with my knuckles. The outside shell was visible but inside were my eyes. I would always spare you from these eyes. We huddled around you in a pyramid. I had rocket launchers and grenades and I used them, cast nets, dispersed mines... For years after you left me I was still doing that. I kept looking for another arm to hide under but the missiles wouldn't let anyone get too close. Anyone who did found the surface to be invulnerable like glass.
Underneath, the silvery parchment was thin. If you looked up close you could see the heartbeat in the neck. The skin was hot and quivering to the touch, underneath the glass. I made a plea for connection. No one could hear me. If answers came back they didn't make sense. Sometimes I talk in little words but not now, maybe later.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
I'll believe in you if you believe in me. I'll believe in you regardless.
I put the pencil on the desk. It rolled off.
I used chopsticks to pick things up.
The heart was on the table.
Did you give this heart to me?
I pulled it open and peered inside.
I can't tell if it's real.
It might be tofu or wheat gluten.
The ice covered stump is in the woods.
My knees pressed into the dirt.
It was quarter till midnight when I heard the cock crow.
I laid my head down. I thought about
standing, raising my arms, and waving back and forth:
dancing to the birds.
I hate the music.
Little sniffles in my concrete tunnel.
Ears ring. I smell cigarettes. The metal flies.
Mrs. me falls, not hitting any ground.
The stars are in my imagination.
I feel furry and can't touch, still falling.
We put the heart away. The table is stained.
We took it outside. I found one similar down the road
and dragged it back. It was snowing. There were glints of steal
in the pavement. To take it's legs off, I flipped it on it's side.
The door to your house is six inches wide. I get
in going sideways. When the screwdriver appeared in my hand I looked at the table. It's legs came off and it moved through the slit, assembling itself inside. I swept up the crumbs. Nobody noticed my espionage. I didn't make contact owing to the blindfolds.
I used chopsticks to pick things up.
The heart was on the table.
Did you give this heart to me?
I pulled it open and peered inside.
I can't tell if it's real.
It might be tofu or wheat gluten.
The ice covered stump is in the woods.
My knees pressed into the dirt.
It was quarter till midnight when I heard the cock crow.
I laid my head down. I thought about
standing, raising my arms, and waving back and forth:
dancing to the birds.
I hate the music.
Little sniffles in my concrete tunnel.
Ears ring. I smell cigarettes. The metal flies.
Mrs. me falls, not hitting any ground.
The stars are in my imagination.
I feel furry and can't touch, still falling.
We put the heart away. The table is stained.
We took it outside. I found one similar down the road
and dragged it back. It was snowing. There were glints of steal
in the pavement. To take it's legs off, I flipped it on it's side.
The door to your house is six inches wide. I get
in going sideways. When the screwdriver appeared in my hand I looked at the table. It's legs came off and it moved through the slit, assembling itself inside. I swept up the crumbs. Nobody noticed my espionage. I didn't make contact owing to the blindfolds.
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