Ointment
Ointment is intimate.
You or
somebody else rubs it
into the spots that raise
the dead.
I rub it on my throat to poison
a cough. Never works
right away.
It is sloppy wet on my neck-
Helping me breathe-
like life support.
I can feel it in my nose.
Everything else-
feels like television commercials.
EFS
This girl
Sits next to me in media class
Has this tattoo behind her right ear
Says EFS
It’s faded
It goes down the back of her head like this:
E
F
S
Everyone Fucking Sucks
Every Fading Second
Ecstatic Flustered Stunned
English French Spanish
Exorcism From Spirit
Easy Fuckable Sexy
Early Five PM Sunset
Ears Fear Saying
Eric Fucked Sarah
Emily Fingered Scott
Everything For Sale
I’ll never know.
Birds, Bees, Sparrows, Spiders
Those scared birds need to stop squawking. They are all so prude.
I ask about a sparrows favorite musical group.
Heavy Metal. Cornell’s voice. Rock n’ Roll.
I said she was a sparrow before, but she wants to adopt a seal, like a black family
adopting a Mexican girl. I am a spider. I don’t have antenna, to pick up her vibes, only poison to slow her down. A bird is a meaty catch for a spider. I spin a web in front of her, my mouth wide open, to look sexy. I spin silk. It twirls like prism batons.
She’s got healthy feathers and flutters the right one lightly, drinking.
My web is complete and I am high and drunk. The sparrow is not high, she is not waiting for me. Your web is very pretty, but I don’t understand it, she says. That’s really cute
you like seals, I say.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
DEAD DEAD DEATH
(Dedicated to Steven and Seth)
The elevator dropped Greg lower and lower. Under the floors, occupied with the busy living, breathing souls. Down he went, tasting warm chocolate as he licked it off of his fingers, avoiding his white coat, feeling summery, having slept most of the day. He exited through a set of shiny metal doors and missed a garbage can throwing the wrapper. His hair was long but only in the back and it brushed the top of his shoulders like twenty inches of toothbrush bristle. Letting a fart creep into his pants, he pushed through some push-doors and saw Lenny reading an issue of a hunting magazine called “Ultra Lamping” with big bright orange lettering beaming on top of a camouflage background smothering the cover. Greg took over for Lenny and Lenny went home carrying a thermos and a pack of menthol cigarettes in a mint green box. Lenny left Greg four bodies.
Fred Fotelli, Maureen Goldberg, Brent Stayden, and Kelly Longtresh were all lying out on tables in front of Greg, covered by white sheets. He washed the chocolate from his hands in a deep sink, sanitized them, and looked over Fred Fotelli’s paperwork. Stabbed in the shoulder. Bar fight. Hit a main artery. Bled to death. He pulled the sheet from Maureen Goldberg’s head and tapped her on the nose. It was cold, Greg laughed and shook his finger at her. Brent Stayden had broken his neck in a football accident, his head was angled sideways, his eyes were also closed. Greg peeked at the body under the last sheet, which revealed a beauty much like the ones he had seen in his early college years. It reminded him of apple pie and ice cream, or the two mixed and jiggled around in a pair of cupped hands. She had a small ‘button’ nose. An all around tiny face with red-blonde hair and neatly snipped bangs. Greg pulled the sheet down further, pinched her right nipple and said, “Niiice”. These four bodies had healthy spirits all hovering against the ceiling above them. They were still and went unnoticed by Greg and all other living beings. Living souls remained inside the body and could not perceive ones that had passed on.
While Greg worked on Fred Fotelli’s body he noticed a tickle in his throat, like a small fly was caught inside, just kind of chilling and buzzing. The spirit hovering above Kelly put the fly there, using its third eye, something living souls have but can’t use. The small fly materialized on the backside of Greg’s Adams apple and flapped. He built up spit in his mouth, hiding it underneath his tongue and swallowed every time he felt it. There were three tubes that were to go inside Fred’s body, two of which were feeding his body different chemicals, one green and one blue, the other acting like a vacuum removing bodily waste. Each body was to eventually receive the three tubes but Fred was first and each body lasted a little over an hour with the tube process. Greg took the down time to get acquainted with the beauty under the last sheet.
He held her head up, “Oh Kelly,” he said, “where were you when I was eighteen?” Kelly laid limp against his hairy arm and didn’t say a word. Her spirit stretched along the ceiling and twitched. Greg swallowed more built up spit and stuck his middle finger in and out of his mouth. The white sheet was on the floor. Trying desperately to reach an itch deep inside of Kelly, Greg moved his middle finger much like one moves a q-tip around inside of an ear. Greg kissed Kelly, her lips were blue, his body was hot, radiating heat. Kelly made Greg feel like he had thrown back several shots of gin and had wheels on the bottoms of his shoes. The floor beneath the two lovers was all ramps, steep and narrow ramps.
The sheet went back over Kelly’s head and Greg wiggled Fred Fotelli’s tubes. He picked up a number two pencil from a desk to check off things on Fred’s chart. When the pencil met his grip Kelly’s spirit snapped it and left several splinters in his middle finger. He screamed and dropped wooden debris on the floor. “Fuck-Fuck-Fuck”, He said. The splinters were lodged tight, sleeping underneath the skin. Using a pair of proper tweezers, Greg removed twenty-five long splinters from his finger. They were long and thin like straightened staples. He bled over the deep sink and secured the wound with gauze and medical tape from a first aid kit, in the top drawer of the desk. This passed some time and Maureen’s tubes were to be connected. Greg vigorously readied some more green and blue chemicals with his eyebrows scrunched.
Maureen received the green and blue treatment and Greg took the sheet off of Kelly again. This time he flipped her over, breasts on the metal, making her arms stretch outward and toward the floor. He tucked them back and ran his tongue along the right section of her buttocks. It was smooth and cold; Greg decided to nibble on it a bit. While nibbling, he massaged her unresponsive spine as if to remove a major knot. Her spirit twitched once more. He dreamt, alone in the morgue, of what she might have looked like in a holiday sweater and a pair of tight pants. It would have been nice if he were outside, he thought, some good loving, outside. He pulled her hair back and draped it over her shoulder to make her appear less thrown about. Then a noise sounded. Kkerrgg’ It was Kristof shuffling about with his mop, in the hallway. Greg decided to get another candy bar.
He and Kristof exchanged conversation about the cold weather, snowed in cars, and how it would get colder. Kristof suggested Greg get chips instead of a candy bar. He got a Snickers and went back into the room to greet Brent Stayden. The chocolate made the fly in Greg’s throat hyper, he made a bowl in his hands over the deep sink and drank water. Kelly’s spirit squinted its third eye and sent a dark wave through Greg’s forehead. Greg couldn’t taste the chocolate; the sweetness was paper, hot computer paper.
Dropping the rest of the candy bar in a wastebasket, he undid his belt. Behind the door was a hook, where Greg hung his white coat. With only a light blue button up shirt on, Greg laid on top of Kelly’s backside. She was very still. The spirit felt his weight. He closed his eyes. Lying on top of Kelly was soft and dreamy.
They fumbled about on the metal table no longer than ten minutes. Greg was in love. Kelly received it. When she was penetrated her healthy spirit became a poltergeist. It slammed into the far corner of the room and curled against the ceiling waiting for Greg to finish. He buttoned his pants and slid back into his white coat; winded and heated he pushed the sleeves up. Kisses were given to Kelly’s forehead and she was rolled over into her original position. He moved her eyelid open and looked into her eye, “It’s a shame your heart can’t beat”, he said in whispered tone. Leaving her without the sheet he spit out more of the paper chocolate taste.
As he wheeled Brent Stayden around the room, Kelly’s poltergeist watched him maneuver the metal table about the morgues floor. It lowered itself and passed through the air behind him. Greg was sweating through his clothing hard, his throat and tongue had become immensely dry. He stopped, coughed, and gagged. The poltergeist grabbed Greg around the stomach and slammed the end of his right hip into the sharp corner of a metal table. He spun around and howled in great pain.
“My God! Kistof!” he shouted for the man and his mop, “My side, agggg”, He gagged and held the hip. The poltergeist shrieked but Greg could not hear it, he pulled himself up only to find it very difficult to walk. His right leg felt a foot longer than his left and he banged into all metal things, tables, pans, and knives. This disproportion with Greg’s legs was an illusion cast by the poltergeist, which stalked Greg about slamming his hips into any jagged edge it could. He felt as if his body were a magnet attracting to the metal. This calamity urged him to shut his eyes tight as they tried to bulge from his skull.
Greg collapsed to the floor, crawled and dragged himself along a smooth marble plain, wailing and trailing speckled blood behind him. He made it into a closet and laid on the floor weeping with blood piddling above his pockets from his hips. They were both broken and he passed out from the shock. The poltergeist rose and floated back to the ceiling, hovering against it directly above Kelly, staring down at her. It would stay there until she was buried and then curl about the cemetery with other spirits in rousing flight.
***
The following morning Kristof followed the trail of blood to the closet and found Greg unconcious. The police were phoned, and Greg was hospitalized, the doctors removed Greg’s tongue and noted he had been paralyzed from the waste down. Communicating on paper he described not having control over his own body and that something else had injured him. He made no mention of Kelly or Fred or Maureen or Brent.
Lying alone in his hospital bed once all nurses and policemen were gone, Greg cried heavily until the medicine he had been given caused him to drift into dreamscapes. It was nightmares there, all nightmares.
The elevator dropped Greg lower and lower. Under the floors, occupied with the busy living, breathing souls. Down he went, tasting warm chocolate as he licked it off of his fingers, avoiding his white coat, feeling summery, having slept most of the day. He exited through a set of shiny metal doors and missed a garbage can throwing the wrapper. His hair was long but only in the back and it brushed the top of his shoulders like twenty inches of toothbrush bristle. Letting a fart creep into his pants, he pushed through some push-doors and saw Lenny reading an issue of a hunting magazine called “Ultra Lamping” with big bright orange lettering beaming on top of a camouflage background smothering the cover. Greg took over for Lenny and Lenny went home carrying a thermos and a pack of menthol cigarettes in a mint green box. Lenny left Greg four bodies.
Fred Fotelli, Maureen Goldberg, Brent Stayden, and Kelly Longtresh were all lying out on tables in front of Greg, covered by white sheets. He washed the chocolate from his hands in a deep sink, sanitized them, and looked over Fred Fotelli’s paperwork. Stabbed in the shoulder. Bar fight. Hit a main artery. Bled to death. He pulled the sheet from Maureen Goldberg’s head and tapped her on the nose. It was cold, Greg laughed and shook his finger at her. Brent Stayden had broken his neck in a football accident, his head was angled sideways, his eyes were also closed. Greg peeked at the body under the last sheet, which revealed a beauty much like the ones he had seen in his early college years. It reminded him of apple pie and ice cream, or the two mixed and jiggled around in a pair of cupped hands. She had a small ‘button’ nose. An all around tiny face with red-blonde hair and neatly snipped bangs. Greg pulled the sheet down further, pinched her right nipple and said, “Niiice”. These four bodies had healthy spirits all hovering against the ceiling above them. They were still and went unnoticed by Greg and all other living beings. Living souls remained inside the body and could not perceive ones that had passed on.
While Greg worked on Fred Fotelli’s body he noticed a tickle in his throat, like a small fly was caught inside, just kind of chilling and buzzing. The spirit hovering above Kelly put the fly there, using its third eye, something living souls have but can’t use. The small fly materialized on the backside of Greg’s Adams apple and flapped. He built up spit in his mouth, hiding it underneath his tongue and swallowed every time he felt it. There were three tubes that were to go inside Fred’s body, two of which were feeding his body different chemicals, one green and one blue, the other acting like a vacuum removing bodily waste. Each body was to eventually receive the three tubes but Fred was first and each body lasted a little over an hour with the tube process. Greg took the down time to get acquainted with the beauty under the last sheet.
He held her head up, “Oh Kelly,” he said, “where were you when I was eighteen?” Kelly laid limp against his hairy arm and didn’t say a word. Her spirit stretched along the ceiling and twitched. Greg swallowed more built up spit and stuck his middle finger in and out of his mouth. The white sheet was on the floor. Trying desperately to reach an itch deep inside of Kelly, Greg moved his middle finger much like one moves a q-tip around inside of an ear. Greg kissed Kelly, her lips were blue, his body was hot, radiating heat. Kelly made Greg feel like he had thrown back several shots of gin and had wheels on the bottoms of his shoes. The floor beneath the two lovers was all ramps, steep and narrow ramps.
The sheet went back over Kelly’s head and Greg wiggled Fred Fotelli’s tubes. He picked up a number two pencil from a desk to check off things on Fred’s chart. When the pencil met his grip Kelly’s spirit snapped it and left several splinters in his middle finger. He screamed and dropped wooden debris on the floor. “Fuck-Fuck-Fuck”, He said. The splinters were lodged tight, sleeping underneath the skin. Using a pair of proper tweezers, Greg removed twenty-five long splinters from his finger. They were long and thin like straightened staples. He bled over the deep sink and secured the wound with gauze and medical tape from a first aid kit, in the top drawer of the desk. This passed some time and Maureen’s tubes were to be connected. Greg vigorously readied some more green and blue chemicals with his eyebrows scrunched.
Maureen received the green and blue treatment and Greg took the sheet off of Kelly again. This time he flipped her over, breasts on the metal, making her arms stretch outward and toward the floor. He tucked them back and ran his tongue along the right section of her buttocks. It was smooth and cold; Greg decided to nibble on it a bit. While nibbling, he massaged her unresponsive spine as if to remove a major knot. Her spirit twitched once more. He dreamt, alone in the morgue, of what she might have looked like in a holiday sweater and a pair of tight pants. It would have been nice if he were outside, he thought, some good loving, outside. He pulled her hair back and draped it over her shoulder to make her appear less thrown about. Then a noise sounded. Kkerrgg’ It was Kristof shuffling about with his mop, in the hallway. Greg decided to get another candy bar.
He and Kristof exchanged conversation about the cold weather, snowed in cars, and how it would get colder. Kristof suggested Greg get chips instead of a candy bar. He got a Snickers and went back into the room to greet Brent Stayden. The chocolate made the fly in Greg’s throat hyper, he made a bowl in his hands over the deep sink and drank water. Kelly’s spirit squinted its third eye and sent a dark wave through Greg’s forehead. Greg couldn’t taste the chocolate; the sweetness was paper, hot computer paper.
Dropping the rest of the candy bar in a wastebasket, he undid his belt. Behind the door was a hook, where Greg hung his white coat. With only a light blue button up shirt on, Greg laid on top of Kelly’s backside. She was very still. The spirit felt his weight. He closed his eyes. Lying on top of Kelly was soft and dreamy.
They fumbled about on the metal table no longer than ten minutes. Greg was in love. Kelly received it. When she was penetrated her healthy spirit became a poltergeist. It slammed into the far corner of the room and curled against the ceiling waiting for Greg to finish. He buttoned his pants and slid back into his white coat; winded and heated he pushed the sleeves up. Kisses were given to Kelly’s forehead and she was rolled over into her original position. He moved her eyelid open and looked into her eye, “It’s a shame your heart can’t beat”, he said in whispered tone. Leaving her without the sheet he spit out more of the paper chocolate taste.
As he wheeled Brent Stayden around the room, Kelly’s poltergeist watched him maneuver the metal table about the morgues floor. It lowered itself and passed through the air behind him. Greg was sweating through his clothing hard, his throat and tongue had become immensely dry. He stopped, coughed, and gagged. The poltergeist grabbed Greg around the stomach and slammed the end of his right hip into the sharp corner of a metal table. He spun around and howled in great pain.
“My God! Kistof!” he shouted for the man and his mop, “My side, agggg”, He gagged and held the hip. The poltergeist shrieked but Greg could not hear it, he pulled himself up only to find it very difficult to walk. His right leg felt a foot longer than his left and he banged into all metal things, tables, pans, and knives. This disproportion with Greg’s legs was an illusion cast by the poltergeist, which stalked Greg about slamming his hips into any jagged edge it could. He felt as if his body were a magnet attracting to the metal. This calamity urged him to shut his eyes tight as they tried to bulge from his skull.
Greg collapsed to the floor, crawled and dragged himself along a smooth marble plain, wailing and trailing speckled blood behind him. He made it into a closet and laid on the floor weeping with blood piddling above his pockets from his hips. They were both broken and he passed out from the shock. The poltergeist rose and floated back to the ceiling, hovering against it directly above Kelly, staring down at her. It would stay there until she was buried and then curl about the cemetery with other spirits in rousing flight.
***
The following morning Kristof followed the trail of blood to the closet and found Greg unconcious. The police were phoned, and Greg was hospitalized, the doctors removed Greg’s tongue and noted he had been paralyzed from the waste down. Communicating on paper he described not having control over his own body and that something else had injured him. He made no mention of Kelly or Fred or Maureen or Brent.
Lying alone in his hospital bed once all nurses and policemen were gone, Greg cried heavily until the medicine he had been given caused him to drift into dreamscapes. It was nightmares there, all nightmares.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
RODENT
The phone rang; David knew it was Lily about to raise hell about something.
“Hello”
“Hey Sweetheart, what are you doing?”
“Just getting home from work, tired, you?”
“Oh my God, I have so many bugs here, while me and Ashley were watching our shows, there was a beetle in the living room and I swear, there’s got to be a spider den in my ceiling, I kill multiple spiders every day, some of them are huge! Oh, and there was an earwig on my pillow and it was really gross,”
This usually went on for a while, and David was well adapted to Lily’s half
Phobias of bugs and all things “gross”. He thought it was petty, a girl in her twenties grossed out by baby spiders and beetles. What was next, coodies? David sat down and slouched in his computer chair, which had broken where the backside and seat cushion were connected, making the chair slant sideways. He leaned over toward the computer screen with a creeeeeek, listening to Lily go on about the shows he had not watched and the bugs he had not flushed for her.
“What if a poisonous one bites me while I’m sleeping?! I’ll never wake up! Then you’ll be sorry,”
David typed a keyword into his browser and waited to push enter. The time was 1:45am; he had not been home long. He had bugs of his own to flush. Tonight he closed at the Solar store downtown and was quite exhausted. Solar was a trendy retail store located in Soho. They carried the “Hottest” trends in fashion. He spent the majority of his time there folding piles of misplaced clothing. The store would usually be trashed at the end of the day; apocalypse style, and David worked late “maintaining” the stores “standards”, sometimes not getting home until three in the morning. He was basically a janitor that didn’t have to deal with toilets and handled money.
David turned away from the computer screen and, without letting Lily know, put the phone on speaker and began to change.
“You don’t think that’s disgusting? Spiders laying eggs in my hair! Are you even there?”
David’s shirt was half over his head and he responded in a muffled “FFFMMM Yea, that’d be FFFMM terrible”
“I’m on speakerphone aren’t I…”
David had been caught.
“I’m sorry, I just kind of walked in the door.”
“It’s okay, you call me when you can, okay.” Lily responded as if she had been rejected from going to a school dance for some faulty irrelevant reason.
“I’ll call you before I go to sleep, alright babe?”
“o.k.”
David dropped the phone where he stood and went into the kitchen. He grabbed a 2. Liter bottle of ginger ale out of the fridge and chugged several huge gulps. The soda was flavorful, and brisk, it was a refreshing burn for David’s insides and throat.
“AHHHHHHH…” He triumphantly sighed.
Standing in the kitchen he smelled maple syrup but wasn’t big into pancakes or waffles or anything of that sort, so the scent confused him. He picked up a few empty dishes from the sink and sniffed. On the floor he noticed the dead cockroach peeking out from behind the wastebasket. His work schedule was hectic and he had left it there for a day or so. He knew it was dead because it hadn’t moved at all when he had first discovered it, but he had not smashed it nor had he doused it in Raid. It was just there, peeking out, dead. If only the bugs in Lily’s apartment dropped dead like that, then he wouldn’t have to spend phone calls hearing about the wrath and carnage.
But what could have killed it? He thought. Didn’t cockroaches survive extreme radiation or function completely fine with their heads chopped off?
He didn’t like that there had been a dead cockroach parked on his floor, so he ripped a paper towel from above the sink and picked up the roach like a shit pellet. He then went into the bathroom and flushed it.
***
After a long day, folding piles of abandoned t-shirts and blue jeans, David stood waiting at the 2nd avenue F train stop headed uptown. It was deserted except for a foreign couple on the opposite platform. David thought they were arguing, but they kept managing to hug each other in between outbursts of random yelling. Standing around all day made David’s feet throb. He stomped hard on the ground to dumb the pain, and then paced around kicking large royal blue beams with the tips of his shoes. He gazed down at the muck layered above the tracks.
A rat scurried by, and then another. David wasn’t grossed out by rats like Lily was with bugs. He thought rodents were cute, although he wouldn’t touch or even get to close to a subway rat, but not many people would. He noticed more rats, three more had darted across.
Watch some Cloverfield shit happen- He thought.
Suddenly his attitude towards rats changed from a shoulder shrug to a slightly confused, bedazzled, intimate wonder. Hobbling slowly through the muck knocking its head into a decomposing McDonald’s cup was a rat, but to David’s absolute surprise it had two proportioned white wings coming out of its shoulder blades. He felt a tickle rise on the back of his neck and he developed a cry ball in his throat. It appeared to be the Pegasus of all vermin. This rat moved slower than the rats that had ran by before, like it was injured and struggling. Its right wing also appeared to be damaged. David’s eyes widened, he quick looked across the platform at the foreign couple now locking lips. They did not know he was there, or see the rat.
There is no fucking way? - He thought.
David rubbed his eyes hard and followed the rat slowly along the bumpy yellow strip designed to keep passengers back from on coming trains. He followed it until the platform ran into a wall bordering the tunnel as it descended into the darkness. It had gone un-noticed in the artificial light, but the rat had a glow to its fur. A faded pink shimmer, like a cave dweller. There were other colors among the pink aura as well, blues, and greens. David became determined to not let the rat just scurry off. He thought of many things like money and science, but also how badly he wanted to see it up close to study its awesome appearance.
A mutant, or an undiscovered species! - He thought.
He sat on the edge of the platform along the bumpy strip and looked both ways several times never quite taking his eyes off of the glowing sewer phenomenon. He leaped down onto the sludgy tracks and stared at the third rail. While David had been pondering the risks of being down on the tracks the rat made it a fair distance into the tunnel, but he could still make out the pink shimmer. He began to follow it slowly through the dark using his cell phone as extra light. It was cold. David only had a tee shirt and a grey windbreaker to warm himself. The ground was murky and there were too many puddles to avoid. Wet shoes didn’t bother David in this situation. He was jumpy, EEEEEAAARRRRRRAAACCKK, he heard in the faint distance, a train perhaps. This made David speed up and silently remove his windbreaker, which sent an instant chill underneath his shirt and up his arms. He shook for a second and approached the rat, which had stopped a short distance in front of him. Wow- He thought, as the rat took notice of him. He crouched down next to it and whispered, here cutie, come here, are you hurt poor thing- The rat then wobbled over to David and he scooped it up into his windbreaker. Its head was just poking out of the swishy fabric. GUNGA-GUNGA-GUNGA-GUNGA, sounded from another direction, as the dark became a swallowing menace of sound and stink.
David pressed the rat tight to his chest to keep warm and began heading back toward the light of the station. The rat smelled like piss, or was it the subway in general? He figured it was both. The dark let out another sound now, only, it spoke- Hoo-Hah! Flying straight into the moonlight! You’d have to eat a million of those things! David stopped, dead in his tracks, and turned around. He saw nothing; dim blue lights just under the ceiling were the only physical things he could make out. CLANK’ SHSH-SHSH, You asshole! - David knew the voices weren’t officials or police, the vocabulary he could make out wasn’t normal or professional sounding, but more groggy. He crept with the rat close to him and one hand touching the wall behind him for balance and grip.
He came to what seemed to be a clearing, a place where trains changed course, which was much wider than the tunnel. There were four different corridors and the mumbled voices were becoming louder. The lights here were brighter as well and he could see a fire lit in a trash can a ways down. There were three men, each sitting on milk crates around it, bullshitting about something he couldn’t make out entirely.
Shit tastes nasty, but it’s well worth it- One man said.
David leaned against the wall of the tunnel and watched the men at a safe distance. His heart was a mess of thunder and concrete, he felt it beat hard. The rat gave David’s chest a tiny nudge. He put his free hand over his mouth so he wouldn’t get caught breathing. He was mildly shivering, but told himself he needed to see what the men were doing so deep in the tunnel. He wondered if there weren’t more rats or glowing creatures.
The men had light pink objects in their hands and they appeared to be sawing and prying at them. Then David saw one of the men drop a baby wing on the black floor, they were sawing the heads off of glowing rats. One man wore a tweed hat and a heavy coat, with muddy boots. He held a decapitated rat body in his hand and said- Bottoms up!
David watched the man squeeze the rodent’s body and guzzle its thick blood. He had stopped shivering and was now sweating through his shirt, eyes wide. The man wiped a crimson streak across his face and smiled. David then dropped his arm from his mouth and raised his head as the ragged man began to gradually hover and then float above the fire. The other two men had also stopped and watched their friend in awe. David felt sick and the rat began to move in his jacket. He got up slowly and felt his leg muscles tighten. The man yelled- A God, HAHAHA I am a God!
David left the man suspended in mid air and rushed until he could see the light of the subway station and within a few minutes he and the rat were on the cold pavement of 2nd avenue.
***
It was approximately 5:30 am when David entered his apartment with the rat still wrapped up in his jacket. He held it cradled in one arm while he pulled a large clear storage bin out of the far corner of the room. He placed the rat inside with some newspaper. The morning sun had not risen fully and he turned all of his lights on. He carried the bin into the bathroom and placed it in inside of the bathtub. The rat seemed to be feeling better but its right wing looked frail and limp. He filled up a small dish with water and put it in the bin. As the rat drank he watched it in an enchanted gaze.
That man was levitating in the tunnel; his head almost hit the ceiling. How much are you worth you cute little weasel? You’ve got such frisky whiskers-
So many thoughts smashed into David’s logic. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to bring the rat to a veterinarian, or try selling it to someone, he didn’t know who. He held his forehead and sat on the toilet in deep meditation. He had work at 7:00am, an opening shift in less than an hour now but had decided he was never going to go back to that place after what he had witnessed. He knew telling Lily wouldn’t go over well; the mention of a rat willingly being in his apartment would be enough for her to hang up.
David realized he didn’t want to work or talk on the phone. He had just witnessed real magic with his own eyes. No card tricks, no models being sawed in half. David wanted to fly.
He watched the rat with a glazed expression. It sat curled in the corner of the plastic tub radiating its rosy flare. David filled a paper cup with water and threw it down his throat, feeling the cold takeover his insides. He paced back and forth through the doorway of the bathroom, lightly tapping his fist on the door. He noticed the intense orange of the sun on the floor, which made him turn and watch it from the window. In those moments of dizzying morning David picked the rat up in his hand like a coke can and brought it into the kitchen. There were some glasses, layered in a beige sort of film, on the counter and he pushed those to the side with the backside of his free hand. He pulled out a wooden cutting board and positioned it on the counter top. The rat moved its head around sniffing the blank air. David held it steady against the cutting board and picked up a bread knife. He closed his eyes only for a second, then watched as he sawed into the rat’s neck. It struggled violently, wiggling, kicking and flapping its one good wing. It frightened David and he lost grip of the handle for a second. The rat was twitching, mostly dead, and David regained his composure and sawed the head off completely. Blood spurted out like a dollar store water gun, and began dripping onto floor as it formed a puddle on the counter. David quick held it up right, much like a soda, and quickly skipped across the apartment toward the fire escape.
David pulled the screen up and felt the morning air hug his body. The rats’ blood had gone cold on his knuckles as he looked out at the rising sun. He felt triumphant, like he had gotten away with murder. He looked at the ground below, which was a mix of concrete and un-kept shrubbery. He looked into the windows of the neighboring buildings. No one seemed to be up, most of the shades were down. He held the rat in front of his face now. I’m gonna fucking fly! - He thought, and squeezed the rats’ body into his mouth. The blood was lukewarm and dreadfully salty. It made David fall to his knees and gag, shutting his eyes tight. Uuuuuuuuuuuaaaa, FUCK! - He exclaimed to the dead outdoors. His eyes opened wide and he began to lift from the ground. The sky above was banded with golden rays and heavy blue. He soared up high over a thousand feet, and looked at the city, leaving the body of the rat to sun bathe on the metal. The city grew brighter by the minute as David floated, spinning and screaming. He found himself over water and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he watched small waves move about in rows on the surface. He had become short of breath, like he had been running really fast. He slowed down and abruptly dropped twenty feet, and paused-
FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK WHA’WHAAT’-
100 feet-
He was plummeting faster by the minute-
As he neared the endless sea beneath David blacked out.
Lily was leaving a message on his answering machine while straightening her hair. The three men in the tunnel were asleep beside their milk crates, grunting, dreaming about having wings of their own.
End.
“Hello”
“Hey Sweetheart, what are you doing?”
“Just getting home from work, tired, you?”
“Oh my God, I have so many bugs here, while me and Ashley were watching our shows, there was a beetle in the living room and I swear, there’s got to be a spider den in my ceiling, I kill multiple spiders every day, some of them are huge! Oh, and there was an earwig on my pillow and it was really gross,”
This usually went on for a while, and David was well adapted to Lily’s half
Phobias of bugs and all things “gross”. He thought it was petty, a girl in her twenties grossed out by baby spiders and beetles. What was next, coodies? David sat down and slouched in his computer chair, which had broken where the backside and seat cushion were connected, making the chair slant sideways. He leaned over toward the computer screen with a creeeeeek, listening to Lily go on about the shows he had not watched and the bugs he had not flushed for her.
“What if a poisonous one bites me while I’m sleeping?! I’ll never wake up! Then you’ll be sorry,”
David typed a keyword into his browser and waited to push enter. The time was 1:45am; he had not been home long. He had bugs of his own to flush. Tonight he closed at the Solar store downtown and was quite exhausted. Solar was a trendy retail store located in Soho. They carried the “Hottest” trends in fashion. He spent the majority of his time there folding piles of misplaced clothing. The store would usually be trashed at the end of the day; apocalypse style, and David worked late “maintaining” the stores “standards”, sometimes not getting home until three in the morning. He was basically a janitor that didn’t have to deal with toilets and handled money.
David turned away from the computer screen and, without letting Lily know, put the phone on speaker and began to change.
“You don’t think that’s disgusting? Spiders laying eggs in my hair! Are you even there?”
David’s shirt was half over his head and he responded in a muffled “FFFMMM Yea, that’d be FFFMM terrible”
“I’m on speakerphone aren’t I…”
David had been caught.
“I’m sorry, I just kind of walked in the door.”
“It’s okay, you call me when you can, okay.” Lily responded as if she had been rejected from going to a school dance for some faulty irrelevant reason.
“I’ll call you before I go to sleep, alright babe?”
“o.k.”
David dropped the phone where he stood and went into the kitchen. He grabbed a 2. Liter bottle of ginger ale out of the fridge and chugged several huge gulps. The soda was flavorful, and brisk, it was a refreshing burn for David’s insides and throat.
“AHHHHHHH…” He triumphantly sighed.
Standing in the kitchen he smelled maple syrup but wasn’t big into pancakes or waffles or anything of that sort, so the scent confused him. He picked up a few empty dishes from the sink and sniffed. On the floor he noticed the dead cockroach peeking out from behind the wastebasket. His work schedule was hectic and he had left it there for a day or so. He knew it was dead because it hadn’t moved at all when he had first discovered it, but he had not smashed it nor had he doused it in Raid. It was just there, peeking out, dead. If only the bugs in Lily’s apartment dropped dead like that, then he wouldn’t have to spend phone calls hearing about the wrath and carnage.
But what could have killed it? He thought. Didn’t cockroaches survive extreme radiation or function completely fine with their heads chopped off?
He didn’t like that there had been a dead cockroach parked on his floor, so he ripped a paper towel from above the sink and picked up the roach like a shit pellet. He then went into the bathroom and flushed it.
***
After a long day, folding piles of abandoned t-shirts and blue jeans, David stood waiting at the 2nd avenue F train stop headed uptown. It was deserted except for a foreign couple on the opposite platform. David thought they were arguing, but they kept managing to hug each other in between outbursts of random yelling. Standing around all day made David’s feet throb. He stomped hard on the ground to dumb the pain, and then paced around kicking large royal blue beams with the tips of his shoes. He gazed down at the muck layered above the tracks.
A rat scurried by, and then another. David wasn’t grossed out by rats like Lily was with bugs. He thought rodents were cute, although he wouldn’t touch or even get to close to a subway rat, but not many people would. He noticed more rats, three more had darted across.
Watch some Cloverfield shit happen- He thought.
Suddenly his attitude towards rats changed from a shoulder shrug to a slightly confused, bedazzled, intimate wonder. Hobbling slowly through the muck knocking its head into a decomposing McDonald’s cup was a rat, but to David’s absolute surprise it had two proportioned white wings coming out of its shoulder blades. He felt a tickle rise on the back of his neck and he developed a cry ball in his throat. It appeared to be the Pegasus of all vermin. This rat moved slower than the rats that had ran by before, like it was injured and struggling. Its right wing also appeared to be damaged. David’s eyes widened, he quick looked across the platform at the foreign couple now locking lips. They did not know he was there, or see the rat.
There is no fucking way? - He thought.
David rubbed his eyes hard and followed the rat slowly along the bumpy yellow strip designed to keep passengers back from on coming trains. He followed it until the platform ran into a wall bordering the tunnel as it descended into the darkness. It had gone un-noticed in the artificial light, but the rat had a glow to its fur. A faded pink shimmer, like a cave dweller. There were other colors among the pink aura as well, blues, and greens. David became determined to not let the rat just scurry off. He thought of many things like money and science, but also how badly he wanted to see it up close to study its awesome appearance.
A mutant, or an undiscovered species! - He thought.
He sat on the edge of the platform along the bumpy strip and looked both ways several times never quite taking his eyes off of the glowing sewer phenomenon. He leaped down onto the sludgy tracks and stared at the third rail. While David had been pondering the risks of being down on the tracks the rat made it a fair distance into the tunnel, but he could still make out the pink shimmer. He began to follow it slowly through the dark using his cell phone as extra light. It was cold. David only had a tee shirt and a grey windbreaker to warm himself. The ground was murky and there were too many puddles to avoid. Wet shoes didn’t bother David in this situation. He was jumpy, EEEEEAAARRRRRRAAACCKK, he heard in the faint distance, a train perhaps. This made David speed up and silently remove his windbreaker, which sent an instant chill underneath his shirt and up his arms. He shook for a second and approached the rat, which had stopped a short distance in front of him. Wow- He thought, as the rat took notice of him. He crouched down next to it and whispered, here cutie, come here, are you hurt poor thing- The rat then wobbled over to David and he scooped it up into his windbreaker. Its head was just poking out of the swishy fabric. GUNGA-GUNGA-GUNGA-GUNGA, sounded from another direction, as the dark became a swallowing menace of sound and stink.
David pressed the rat tight to his chest to keep warm and began heading back toward the light of the station. The rat smelled like piss, or was it the subway in general? He figured it was both. The dark let out another sound now, only, it spoke- Hoo-Hah! Flying straight into the moonlight! You’d have to eat a million of those things! David stopped, dead in his tracks, and turned around. He saw nothing; dim blue lights just under the ceiling were the only physical things he could make out. CLANK’ SHSH-SHSH, You asshole! - David knew the voices weren’t officials or police, the vocabulary he could make out wasn’t normal or professional sounding, but more groggy. He crept with the rat close to him and one hand touching the wall behind him for balance and grip.
He came to what seemed to be a clearing, a place where trains changed course, which was much wider than the tunnel. There were four different corridors and the mumbled voices were becoming louder. The lights here were brighter as well and he could see a fire lit in a trash can a ways down. There were three men, each sitting on milk crates around it, bullshitting about something he couldn’t make out entirely.
Shit tastes nasty, but it’s well worth it- One man said.
David leaned against the wall of the tunnel and watched the men at a safe distance. His heart was a mess of thunder and concrete, he felt it beat hard. The rat gave David’s chest a tiny nudge. He put his free hand over his mouth so he wouldn’t get caught breathing. He was mildly shivering, but told himself he needed to see what the men were doing so deep in the tunnel. He wondered if there weren’t more rats or glowing creatures.
The men had light pink objects in their hands and they appeared to be sawing and prying at them. Then David saw one of the men drop a baby wing on the black floor, they were sawing the heads off of glowing rats. One man wore a tweed hat and a heavy coat, with muddy boots. He held a decapitated rat body in his hand and said- Bottoms up!
David watched the man squeeze the rodent’s body and guzzle its thick blood. He had stopped shivering and was now sweating through his shirt, eyes wide. The man wiped a crimson streak across his face and smiled. David then dropped his arm from his mouth and raised his head as the ragged man began to gradually hover and then float above the fire. The other two men had also stopped and watched their friend in awe. David felt sick and the rat began to move in his jacket. He got up slowly and felt his leg muscles tighten. The man yelled- A God, HAHAHA I am a God!
David left the man suspended in mid air and rushed until he could see the light of the subway station and within a few minutes he and the rat were on the cold pavement of 2nd avenue.
***
It was approximately 5:30 am when David entered his apartment with the rat still wrapped up in his jacket. He held it cradled in one arm while he pulled a large clear storage bin out of the far corner of the room. He placed the rat inside with some newspaper. The morning sun had not risen fully and he turned all of his lights on. He carried the bin into the bathroom and placed it in inside of the bathtub. The rat seemed to be feeling better but its right wing looked frail and limp. He filled up a small dish with water and put it in the bin. As the rat drank he watched it in an enchanted gaze.
That man was levitating in the tunnel; his head almost hit the ceiling. How much are you worth you cute little weasel? You’ve got such frisky whiskers-
So many thoughts smashed into David’s logic. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to bring the rat to a veterinarian, or try selling it to someone, he didn’t know who. He held his forehead and sat on the toilet in deep meditation. He had work at 7:00am, an opening shift in less than an hour now but had decided he was never going to go back to that place after what he had witnessed. He knew telling Lily wouldn’t go over well; the mention of a rat willingly being in his apartment would be enough for her to hang up.
David realized he didn’t want to work or talk on the phone. He had just witnessed real magic with his own eyes. No card tricks, no models being sawed in half. David wanted to fly.
He watched the rat with a glazed expression. It sat curled in the corner of the plastic tub radiating its rosy flare. David filled a paper cup with water and threw it down his throat, feeling the cold takeover his insides. He paced back and forth through the doorway of the bathroom, lightly tapping his fist on the door. He noticed the intense orange of the sun on the floor, which made him turn and watch it from the window. In those moments of dizzying morning David picked the rat up in his hand like a coke can and brought it into the kitchen. There were some glasses, layered in a beige sort of film, on the counter and he pushed those to the side with the backside of his free hand. He pulled out a wooden cutting board and positioned it on the counter top. The rat moved its head around sniffing the blank air. David held it steady against the cutting board and picked up a bread knife. He closed his eyes only for a second, then watched as he sawed into the rat’s neck. It struggled violently, wiggling, kicking and flapping its one good wing. It frightened David and he lost grip of the handle for a second. The rat was twitching, mostly dead, and David regained his composure and sawed the head off completely. Blood spurted out like a dollar store water gun, and began dripping onto floor as it formed a puddle on the counter. David quick held it up right, much like a soda, and quickly skipped across the apartment toward the fire escape.
David pulled the screen up and felt the morning air hug his body. The rats’ blood had gone cold on his knuckles as he looked out at the rising sun. He felt triumphant, like he had gotten away with murder. He looked at the ground below, which was a mix of concrete and un-kept shrubbery. He looked into the windows of the neighboring buildings. No one seemed to be up, most of the shades were down. He held the rat in front of his face now. I’m gonna fucking fly! - He thought, and squeezed the rats’ body into his mouth. The blood was lukewarm and dreadfully salty. It made David fall to his knees and gag, shutting his eyes tight. Uuuuuuuuuuuaaaa, FUCK! - He exclaimed to the dead outdoors. His eyes opened wide and he began to lift from the ground. The sky above was banded with golden rays and heavy blue. He soared up high over a thousand feet, and looked at the city, leaving the body of the rat to sun bathe on the metal. The city grew brighter by the minute as David floated, spinning and screaming. He found himself over water and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he watched small waves move about in rows on the surface. He had become short of breath, like he had been running really fast. He slowed down and abruptly dropped twenty feet, and paused-
FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK WHA’WHAAT’-
100 feet-
He was plummeting faster by the minute-
As he neared the endless sea beneath David blacked out.
Lily was leaving a message on his answering machine while straightening her hair. The three men in the tunnel were asleep beside their milk crates, grunting, dreaming about having wings of their own.
End.
Friday, March 6, 2009
I always post when I'm ill.
Domains of Sadness
She works
in a Wal-Mart-
Straight out
of a law firm-
“Some life” she thinks.
This is her domain of sadness-
A place where air is tear gas,
A place where stomachs never settle,
A place where clothing sags from your
Arms and legs and waist.
She used to wear suits
to expensive dinners-
Now she’s as good as dead,
in her stale bakery,
if the donuts don’t come out right.
Transformed from something alive-
To nothing but a miserable motherhood-
That smells like pounds of icing-
Old ages love life,
as cold as a winter’s hand job.
Its like,
NO FUN
NO FUN
NO FUN-
This domain of sadness, truly crippling,
makes for a
mass of wrinkles,
and a hoarse voice.
And there’s my best friend-
Anger.
He always shows up to the domain of sadness,
orders a few drinks, smokes a few cheap cigarettes.
All he can afford.
He brings screaming matches, crying eyes,
unbelievable lunacy.
He comes from his own domains,
which are underground
in the domains of sadness.
Its loneliness, uncertainty of income,
Ignorance (who is from the domain of bliss),
and shit like
Cancer.
Mother fucking anger-
Mother fucking sadness-
Mother fucking pain-
All crowded around the streets
in the daylight
keying each others cars,
slashing each others tires-
slobbering in the nightlight,
stubbing the toes of their bare feet
on the unpaved-rocky roads
of these treacherous towns
belonging to the beautiful people,
who have given up
everything.
Self Pity
Poor Jimmy,
Always writing about sick love-
When will he write something new?
Its like he swallows his own
poetic saliva-
and pukes it into his
computer.
He makes himself weak in the knees,
he takes his own breath away,
he drinks love potion
and stares in the mirror-
He is his own muse.
Poor James,
What is it he’s looking for?
To be immortal-
Nah, death is too sexy.
To be alone-
Nah, female morning breath smells
too good.
To do the right thing-
Fuck it.
Poor Jim Jim,
He’ll never be a song writer-
He practices everyday and can’t even read music-
He runs down the block with his heart in his hands-
He carries on-
“I can not strum my guitar to the way it beats!”
He grows his hair long-
only to tear it out.
Poor Jimbo,
He can’t break the bad habit-
can’t slow the bad diet-
just can’t keep money in his pocket.
Couldn’t type you a song if you sang it to him,
couldn’t love you the same if you taught it to him.
Poor guy,
Deaf to kindness-
Blind to real beauty-
Not so well read-
Up the creek
with rocks
for brains.
The Sad Songwriter
Oh he’s got the energy on the stage,
The crowd really loves him.
He smokes his eyes red and plays that guitar-
What does he sing about?
Nothing, he’s bashful when it comes to lyrics.
He also hates his voice-
He can’t hit the right note.
All he’s got is ideas-
Million dollar hits-
Like Lennon?
No way-
Lennon could sing remember?
And his lyrics were gold.
This sad,
Sad songwriter-
He’s got nothing to sing about but being spoiled
And stoned,
His last song went something like this:
“Mama I need some money,
Mama my stomach it hurts,
Mama I’m out of party drugs,
Mama lala lala
Mama lala lala”
Wow, that’s really awful-
You’ll like it,
Takes a few listens.
Where can we see him play?
He doesn’t play out much-
Oh I get it, he’s strictly a studio musician huh?
Not exactly-
I’d describe him as a trash performer-
He only plays in his room-
He treats his songs like junk-
If he did paintings,
those canvases would warp and bend,
he would never put them in a gallery.
This songwriter sucks, I think he needs a new hobby-
I’ll play you some of his songs someday-
Trust me,
they are catchy.
Liquor
Makes me bang my fists
On hard wood floors,
Shit out words I truly feel about
Yyyy-you.
Nervous stutter?
That’s what you do to me,
Like bloated fucking mutters
Swollen cheeks
From crying to you in my sleep
My teeth slicing the inside of my mouth
In layers,
Puking the way you wear those jeans
SNUG
On those artistic hips
Into my brand new toilet.
She works
in a Wal-Mart-
Straight out
of a law firm-
“Some life” she thinks.
This is her domain of sadness-
A place where air is tear gas,
A place where stomachs never settle,
A place where clothing sags from your
Arms and legs and waist.
She used to wear suits
to expensive dinners-
Now she’s as good as dead,
in her stale bakery,
if the donuts don’t come out right.
Transformed from something alive-
To nothing but a miserable motherhood-
That smells like pounds of icing-
Old ages love life,
as cold as a winter’s hand job.
Its like,
NO FUN
NO FUN
NO FUN-
This domain of sadness, truly crippling,
makes for a
mass of wrinkles,
and a hoarse voice.
And there’s my best friend-
Anger.
He always shows up to the domain of sadness,
orders a few drinks, smokes a few cheap cigarettes.
All he can afford.
He brings screaming matches, crying eyes,
unbelievable lunacy.
He comes from his own domains,
which are underground
in the domains of sadness.
Its loneliness, uncertainty of income,
Ignorance (who is from the domain of bliss),
and shit like
Cancer.
Mother fucking anger-
Mother fucking sadness-
Mother fucking pain-
All crowded around the streets
in the daylight
keying each others cars,
slashing each others tires-
slobbering in the nightlight,
stubbing the toes of their bare feet
on the unpaved-rocky roads
of these treacherous towns
belonging to the beautiful people,
who have given up
everything.
Self Pity
Poor Jimmy,
Always writing about sick love-
When will he write something new?
Its like he swallows his own
poetic saliva-
and pukes it into his
computer.
He makes himself weak in the knees,
he takes his own breath away,
he drinks love potion
and stares in the mirror-
He is his own muse.
Poor James,
What is it he’s looking for?
To be immortal-
Nah, death is too sexy.
To be alone-
Nah, female morning breath smells
too good.
To do the right thing-
Fuck it.
Poor Jim Jim,
He’ll never be a song writer-
He practices everyday and can’t even read music-
He runs down the block with his heart in his hands-
He carries on-
“I can not strum my guitar to the way it beats!”
He grows his hair long-
only to tear it out.
Poor Jimbo,
He can’t break the bad habit-
can’t slow the bad diet-
just can’t keep money in his pocket.
Couldn’t type you a song if you sang it to him,
couldn’t love you the same if you taught it to him.
Poor guy,
Deaf to kindness-
Blind to real beauty-
Not so well read-
Up the creek
with rocks
for brains.
The Sad Songwriter
Oh he’s got the energy on the stage,
The crowd really loves him.
He smokes his eyes red and plays that guitar-
What does he sing about?
Nothing, he’s bashful when it comes to lyrics.
He also hates his voice-
He can’t hit the right note.
All he’s got is ideas-
Million dollar hits-
Like Lennon?
No way-
Lennon could sing remember?
And his lyrics were gold.
This sad,
Sad songwriter-
He’s got nothing to sing about but being spoiled
And stoned,
His last song went something like this:
“Mama I need some money,
Mama my stomach it hurts,
Mama I’m out of party drugs,
Mama lala lala
Mama lala lala”
Wow, that’s really awful-
You’ll like it,
Takes a few listens.
Where can we see him play?
He doesn’t play out much-
Oh I get it, he’s strictly a studio musician huh?
Not exactly-
I’d describe him as a trash performer-
He only plays in his room-
He treats his songs like junk-
If he did paintings,
those canvases would warp and bend,
he would never put them in a gallery.
This songwriter sucks, I think he needs a new hobby-
I’ll play you some of his songs someday-
Trust me,
they are catchy.
Liquor
Makes me bang my fists
On hard wood floors,
Shit out words I truly feel about
Yyyy-you.
Nervous stutter?
That’s what you do to me,
Like bloated fucking mutters
Swollen cheeks
From crying to you in my sleep
My teeth slicing the inside of my mouth
In layers,
Puking the way you wear those jeans
SNUG
On those artistic hips
Into my brand new toilet.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
1:22am
Memories Alive & Dead
Oh blank walls-
You see it all.
You see me in all my grief-
In all my happiness-
In all my dread-
O Lovely,
You don’t know what these
Old walls see.
You’ll never hear the songs
They hear-
Oh blank walls-
You’ve always told me-
To love and love and love-
O vivacious girl,
These walls know
That as far back
as they can remember-
you’ve been worth more
to me-
Than life, death, and a full stomach.
Old walls.
Blank walls.
Covered in memories alive and dead.
Oh blank walls-
You see it all.
You see me in all my grief-
In all my happiness-
In all my dread-
O Lovely,
You don’t know what these
Old walls see.
You’ll never hear the songs
They hear-
Oh blank walls-
You’ve always told me-
To love and love and love-
O vivacious girl,
These walls know
That as far back
as they can remember-
you’ve been worth more
to me-
Than life, death, and a full stomach.
Old walls.
Blank walls.
Covered in memories alive and dead.
long island new years 2009
Furniture
There’s this girl
I don’t really know.
But I want
Really bad.
And as I was
Helping my mother
Pick out a couch
In the furniture super store,
I imagined
what it would be like
to fuck that girl
on every couch
in the store.
I was fucking her on
Love seats,
Kissing her hips
On leather sofas,
Pressing against her tits
In over a hundred living rooms.
I saw her come out of
50 different bedrooms,
and strip for me-
while I relaxed on
a blue couch,
a red one,
and a recliner
made with tweed.
She crawled slowly toward me
Over oval glass coffee tables,
and rectangular ones too.
We even ended up on the floor.
My mother-
Hated every shade and texture she saw
We left without
Any couches.
DTF
You bet
I am.
She says,
“What do you do if a bitch sends you a text that says R U DTF?”
I tell her with my eyes.
They fill her in-
“I wreck hearts and fuck brains out.”
She left shortly after that-
I thought it was her ice breaker-
I can wait-
I’ve got peace and quiet.
but
I need to feel her like pain.
I need to feel her like breath.
I need to feel her like vice grip.
2:30am
No calls & more knots-
In my back.
How many hours do you spend a week
waiting for good things
to fall
into your lap,
or ring loud
on the telephone?
enough.
There’s this girl
I don’t really know.
But I want
Really bad.
And as I was
Helping my mother
Pick out a couch
In the furniture super store,
I imagined
what it would be like
to fuck that girl
on every couch
in the store.
I was fucking her on
Love seats,
Kissing her hips
On leather sofas,
Pressing against her tits
In over a hundred living rooms.
I saw her come out of
50 different bedrooms,
and strip for me-
while I relaxed on
a blue couch,
a red one,
and a recliner
made with tweed.
She crawled slowly toward me
Over oval glass coffee tables,
and rectangular ones too.
We even ended up on the floor.
My mother-
Hated every shade and texture she saw
We left without
Any couches.
DTF
You bet
I am.
She says,
“What do you do if a bitch sends you a text that says R U DTF?”
I tell her with my eyes.
They fill her in-
“I wreck hearts and fuck brains out.”
She left shortly after that-
I thought it was her ice breaker-
I can wait-
I’ve got peace and quiet.
but
I need to feel her like pain.
I need to feel her like breath.
I need to feel her like vice grip.
2:30am
No calls & more knots-
In my back.
How many hours do you spend a week
waiting for good things
to fall
into your lap,
or ring loud
on the telephone?
enough.
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