the young man turns and says, “all beautiful things rot. as does all ugliness. everything in the end eventually just dies.”
the grizzled man regards him for a moment, then slowly nods his head. “now you’re getting it boy.”
Category Archives: words
gathers all the pieces
he sits at a workbench, an array of tools before him. first he takes the pliers and carefully, one by one, removes each fingernail and sets them aside. he then takes the hammer and smashes his teeth out, enameled bits set aside. picking up the sheet metal clippers, he sticks his tongue out, cuts it off into fours, sets the wet bits aside. with the box cutter, he removes his eyelids. all in one pile. careful not to spit out or bleed on the bench, he gathers all the pieces into the palms of his hands. chews and chokes until he swallows them all.
strained wet gravel
the little one cries in the middle of the night, a hoarse sound over strained wet gravel. she panics and says she cannot breathe, short interrupted heaves. i snap her up and hold her tight in my arms, press her body into my chest and whisper into her ear, it’s ok, it’s ok, breathe like this, and i breathe, calm down, breathe like this, and she breathes. she settles down, long haggard breaths smooth out. she whispers, i’m ok now, and i breathe hoping the breath she catches is my own.
skin cartography
i wish i understood this need in me, i wish i could bear it and leave it alone, set it into its box and shuffle it away amongst other lost regrets. let it gather dust, let it bleed itself out. i wish time could indeed heal all wounds when i know precisely differently: time leaves mountain ranges of scars, an etched cartography of loss across fragile skin.
meat blanket
fistfuls of sleep hammer me into the sheets, i turn into the chill of morning, no blanket can warm me, no body to hold this tired skin, my face feels swollen, i am obese and it is all beyond measure, there are no increments designed for this, this sense of helplessness, of resignation, my son cries and i hold him close to me, curl around him, put this slab of meat i call a body to some good use.
i am
i am the well without water. i am the tethered line holding you aloft by a single thread. i am the pins and needles before a heart attack. i am the stars in your eyes before you stroke out. i am the hand that wipes your brow as you take your last breath. i am the man that searches your corpse to find out who you were. i am the first love that breaks your heart. i am the clever lie told straight to your face. i am the worm in the rain. i am the cigarette that burns your lungs. i am what i am and one day you’ll wake up and realize you don’t need this shit anymore.
cumbersome smoke writing
this is of course a cumbersome habit i’ve gotten into: writing while i smoke outside. but i love it so, i love sitting outside and thinking the world as i imagine it, writing down spur of the moment thoughts and lines that have haunted me. i wonder sometimes if everything i’ve written has already been written somewhere and it leaks out, butchered by these clumsy hands. i know less and less words, moments of time disappear into sewers of memory, lost in the sludge. the cigarette drops ashes like leaves and the slow steady rain brings me a comfort i yearn for everyday.
birthdays
birthdays big and small, birthdays short and tall, birthdays with cakes, birthdays with diamonds, birthdays on the moon, birthdays in aruba, birthdays in prisons during lock down, breakfast in bed birthdays, room filled catered birthdays, birthdays without notice, surprise birthdays, fiftieth birthdays, birthdays all alone, forgotten birthdays and birthday gifts without remorse.
bricks and wrists
in his company she has the neurotic fear of becoming normal again after the overwhelming feeling has passed again as she settles for him to fill this void in her when he cannot feel anything at all again and he stands there just stupid looking at her wishing he could figure her out figure what the fuck is she going on about again and she chews on her wrists and he just wraps his fingers around his own to protect them as if she was foaming at the mouth again and i wish i could just take a brick and smack him in the face with it over and over again until i break through the skin the muscle the bone and his eyes ogle me in the same stupid way he doesn’t know how to look at her to teach him how to fill the fucking void she’s left in me.
amusement park
i kiss you on the ferris wheel but have no spit for it. you cough up your spleen for a prize as the strongman smashes it with a mallet. i had an itch in my heart and you cracked open my rib cage to scratch it. all these fall from grace, your hair burned upwards into the nostrils of clowns on stilts. the inner turmoil of a roller coaster abused for the final time and the languishing promises a funhouse can no longer deliver. you rubbed my knuckles across your teeth until there was only bone and we ate cotton candy until our lungs bled. spinning in tea cups our ears were flung at such velocity that they blinded children. everyone applauded the barker until their hands became swollen bruised and useless. but we had little money and less time to count all the tickets tucked under our tongues.