Saturday, December 6, 2008

it's not radioactive, you fuck. it's breaking only for you!

Can't remember what happened last year. Holding my organs in, yes. Remember that. Staying indoors quite often, going outside only to walk around on the front porch with the dog and look up and down the street for any heartbeats glowing warm in the snow. Glowing, realize this, please. Found a spatula in the parking lot across the street once. Saw the eventual farmer i would like to grow old with. He was looking for a grill someone was leaving for him in the parking lot. I said "i just found a spatula" he didn't get it. But he didn't get most things. Just said really real things like, "it made me cry, but not cause it's said, cause it's redemptive." The lack of desire felt in bed with the one with the curly blonde hair and dirty fingernails. Said he loved me under his breath and he couldn't treat me like a slut any longer because that's wasn't what i was. Apparently. Now year, new year, this year, it's all ended. Wouldn't walk down the street and won't return his calls. Laying lonely in a big, warm bed. There is this new pressure on the earth I didn't see before and it's coming from two hands, continuous---restless, worn. Making up huge amazings from only depression and an empty room, an empty couch. Only feel a warmth from this hold-on-to-me, hold-me-down, i-love-it-so-much, pressure. His winters soft and welcoming. Clear the head and keep going cause it's going nowhere...Holding up fabrics together. Mismatched and her face lighting up cause she liked them. "Really? Are you fucking kidding me? Is this actually happening right now?" It is happening, hallejuah. And "look, it's snowing!" Wishing a baby into your stomach, to put love somewhere other than nowhere. "They're probably just playing football or something. They can't be fighting." You can't die alone. You could die with a baby in your belly, warm still, it would find it's way out and sing loud for the days it did have. Mothers (plural) gone far from her, her lilacs dried out and littering the walkway to the barn, where she fell from hay bails, high, dry, in air she saw the sun setting thru the slats of wood that came from the next town over 100 some years before. Glittering, in skinny long lines that spanned the whole interior.
i see it.
i see it.
i see it.

we would only be so lucky to have such thoughts before we had no more.

1 comment:

My Idea of Fun said...

in the still night we drove not far but close to your house. this is what i want to hear, this is what we'd like to know.