Saturday, July 2, 2011

"250,000 miles on a clear night in June / and I'm aiming right at you"

locked in apology. a filp book of my impotence. curtains flap across plastic cases. the sound puts crackling bodies in my head. skeletons weighted by a soft jelly whose bulk has been cooked and eaten. suck the air from outside the wall through your nose and blow it back. repeat until we both turn blue. keep going until blood comes out and hangs still as bog vapors. until your flesh clings tight and rips like a grocery bag and all the vegetation tumbles to the floor, the splatter icing over in the liquid nitrogen that is your recirculated breath. i don't care how this looks.

caring for you was like impregnating a baby killer. screwed thumbs quake with a tenacity reserved for the held climax of a crime. pins are blown to keep the wounds from sealing shut. only when ego shapes a reinforcing glad-hand are my words valued. only when they are wind and silence are my thoughts treasured. only in hollow allegory or gruesome parable do my dreams mean a thing. it hurts to be figured out.