Coup de Grace no. 9
Wednesday, May. 05, 2004 8:42 pm
So, there it was. A single slug round standing sentry next to the precision machine tool. Given permission. Advantage taken.
click. boom.
withered red evanescence. maroon curtains hang over my window. they really do.
"You need a new pair of sneakers,"
I looked at the tears along the soles.
"They're still good,"
Snow soaked my socks that winter.
My eye were closed, head on a pillow and she was standing in my doorway. Tall and bald. Nubian and haunting. Frail and robed in white silk. Lights out inside and out. Long dead hallway aching [arching?] into the distant window, curtainless. Her body twitching, face raised to God, hands up like Jesus in sin. Backstepping motion in fast-forward. A wail presumed, however unheard. Distant window, body shifted into reverse. She speeds towards it, back first. Feet do not move, gliding at hurried and spastic pace over wall to wall carpeting.
A ghost of Dickensian christmas past charm.
Just tell me when I can open my eyes.
Ok, open.
Blue skies blinding worker's mole eyes. White silk clouds. Thinking; I wish you could see me now. Squinted produces a faux smile.
What would you do in that same situation?
SHUT THE FUCK UP!
My lord, how many glasses have called out, asking me if I'd like a good time tonight? Empty and diligently staring back [some call it a reflection]. Empty glasses, empty bottles, strewn across a black clothed table like work-weary whores.
there must be hundreds...
stares
looking at reflections through flies eyes.
SHUT THE FUCK UP!
I'll take as much as you can handle, the brain says to the blood. The heart watches with crossed arms, silent and bitter. The soul is locked out in the snow, maliciously, while it pleads with God.
Another trick to imbibe. It out-Herods Herod.
teeth bare dogs fangs malevolently at the plight of whatever desires a change. Ask sometime to see my knuckle scars from biting the hand that feeds me.
understand how it feels to enjoy being rabid? So damn easy to invite infection. How are you feeling? You look beautiful tonight. Put out your hand and feed me.
ok, eyes open.
Really, they do.
Click. Boom.
last five:
A Winter Letter - Wednesday, Nov. 28, 2007
almost but not quite - Wednesday, Mar. 22, 2006
rural times, blue skies. it feels so warm over my hair - Wednesday, Jun. 01, 2005
smiles and gone - Monday, Feb. 07, 2005
I caught my love in North Carolina - Monday, Nov. 29, 2004