all these little fragments of a life real and imagined, of writing and the joy of it, of loose talk and even looser words, of half thoughts, half scenes, of couples on the rocks, of lovers on the mend, of gangsters and killers and clowns as children, of angst ridden poets, all of you, some shattered whole, some cracked mosaic, and i am happy in that, to have found you again my dear, dear old friend. you never did abandon me, and i had thought i could go on without you.
with nails, with teeth
when he handles her it’s all tufts of hair and tongues. it’s all push and pull and scorching heat. everything burns around her. it comes close to violence if love were not involved, if anyone can love anyone any more these days. it becomes like clawing, like trying to get at something that’s beneath the surface, just this side of the vein. and he’s been trying to get at it, with his nails, with his teeth, because he wants to show it to her, he wants to say, this is what i see when i am in you, this is what i imagine you to be, this is you. isn’t it beautiful? how long has it been since you were beautiful?
ever go away
and there are times when the skin is so thin and so real that i rake it over and over to get at what’s inside, to peel it off and see what’s inside, to separate the meat from the bone to feel what’s inside and all i find in myself are maggots and shit and despair like some new tomorrow will never come, like all the world’s roses are perched thorns out from under my chin, like the pressure in my head will never abate, will never grow tired, will never grow old, will never ever go.
bump in the night
a bump in the night makes everything all right.
i wish i could join you
i see you there playing with our daughter, a game involving tea cups and paint.
i’m standing right here but i cannot be there.
i see you there singing at the station, your voice like natalie merchant.
i wished i stayed there for one more song but the train took me away.
i see you in between train cars, going off to the side, telling me to go in, to look out.
i tried to stop you, but it was useless. instead i walked in and then you screamed.
i see you there, smashed and angry, every word one word too many, every drink one drink too many.
i remember feeling free and violent, wicked and wild, but i barely survived it.
i wish i could join you, any of you, but i’m just not him anymore.
fish (revised)
i don’t mean any harm by it, but there are times i just really want to do him harm. sometimes, sometimes, i really just want to gut him like a fish, y’know? and i mean, he’s gotta be awake for most of it. no, scratch that. for all of it. and i’d want to use a kitchen knife, something like, something with a serated edge that’s just a little blunt y’know? just to give it that little oomph as you go along. that belly will give me a bit of a hard time, there’s no bone there, so i can imagine the knife going this way and that. but i figure once you’re in there, once you got a good spike right through his prostrate and start pulling the tear open as you go up, it’s gotta be a little fun, yeah? and i’d imagine i’d need a mallet for the sternum. i wouldn’t want to saw through that, too much noise, i wouldn’t be able to hear him over it, but a mallet would do. just take one good over the head swing and smash that right in. maybe i’d burst his heart. that would be awesome, wouldn’t it? of course the best would be when i’d get the knife under his chin and open his jaw right where it’s soft. this way i could get my fingers in there like a handle and drag him around like luggage. wouldn’t that be something?
waking
she sits in a room. you sit a room.
she barely sees her hands. you see her skin.
she stirs in her chair. you stir her from sleeping.
she rubs her hands on her legs. you rub your hand on the inside of her thigh.
she cups her hands and blows into them. you open her legs and press between them.
she stands up, paces. you pull her hair, you pull her mouth to yours.
she trips over herself. you trip over her tongue.
she sits down again. you push her down again.
she looks in the dark. you look at her.
she’s been here before. you’ve seen her before.
she gets up abruptly and tries to leave. you get up abruptly and try to take her with you.
there are no doors to her room. there is no one here with you.
to write ceaselessly
to write it ceaselessly, endlessly, until it all goes away, the fragrance of it, the scratch of it, to reduce it all to the trace of a lost thought, something that can fit snugly in the back of the throat where not even the nimblest of fingers can get it. where you will write over it, ceaslessly, endlessly, until it’s all noise, like the way it was before, like the way it was before you were found.
hair and beard
i said to her, yeah ok, the hair i can understand. it’s a bit much, even for me. but, the beard, no. i need the beard. i’m grieving, i need the beard to cover my face.
i turned away, my eyes welled up too quickly, i hadnt expected it, so sudden, so raw. i had to not look at anything.
what? she said, touching my arm, what is it? what is it?
how do i tell her, i dont know, i still dont know where all the pain comes from, all this fucking sorrow.
it's truly amazing
it’s truly amazing what people can get away with, he said, putting out the cigarette. what’s funny, and completely absurd, is what they convince themselves they can get away with.
he looks dead at you. but you my friend, you can’t get away with shit.