Wednesday, December 29, 2010

rain coming through the ceiling
then through the clothing
then to the floor - let's make a game of it,
she said

rain coming through the ceiling
then through the air
into ----the -----------dish

it made a melody or tune
one note never equal to another
and only out of key fifteen times
the last sound, profound -
our feet knocking them over, dancing
Out there the strange feeling of life in the shadow of war. Fear and denial in the streets. The tops of the heads of passersby in the street. The desperate thoughts inside each head. The war raging on the horizon. In times like these men like me matter because war likes the darkness I carry with me in my heart. Like a woman's secret rape games. Women walking by look at me like little girls. War doesn't like women, war demands that they masquerade as little girls. In the cool silence of the night the bombs can be heard in the distance and Angelica coddles in my armpit and shakes in fear and her pussy gets wet. I stroke her pussy. She passes wind like a baloon deflating and I stroke her to sleep.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

When the stampede cleared there was still the dust. I walked in the dust and yelled his name. I saw one foot of ground ahead of me. It must have been a nightmare I thought. That one minute I'm in the same country I've known for ten years and the next it's an unrecognizable dusty hell should not be allowed. The hell with the cattle. I hope they stampede over whoever finds them next.

I found old Joe when the dust had cleared. His mangled sorry shape could've laid anywhere in that field but it happen to lay there in front of me that moment. I wasn't happy to see him dead. That life alots a man opportunities to make a fortune shouldn't be doubted, he used to say. Every day there comes a means to make a living and your ability to find it is called sense. That is sense.

I find sense to be that which keeps a man from finding opportunities to die. I find myself the one who decides what to do with old Joe's corpse. It is I who will either round up the cattle and drive them to Texas or take what money he had and make my own way. I have the sudden urge to take old Joe's young wife in as my own and play family with her, though as yet I do not know what to do with a woman.

Sense creeps across the fields over the raging cattle and the trickling rivers and finds the boy and breathes my new identity into him. I hear old Joe take a breath. He takes another one. He turns over. He lays there with his mouth open and his eyes closed, but he knows I'm here. I take his revolver out of his holster. I take a bullet off his belt and put it in and shoot him in the chest. Dust kicks up from underneath him. I expected more recoil. I load in another and shoot him in the forehead to make sure.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

The elder statesman parrot concluded
That the best way to degrade people
Is still to mockingly repeat their sayings.

“To express oneself truly,” he said,
“In front of people is something like
Taking a parakeet out to see ballet.”

Then he mentioned the dolphins,
How they still insist on ferrying
Lost boats to shore- “If you ever find

A lost airplane, lead it to a mountain!”
Allison reached inside the cage.
“Pretty bird, oh, pretty bird,” she said

And ruffled his feathers. His tail
Feathers stood up. “Pretty bird,”
He said looking longingly at her back.

Monday, December 6, 2010

My beautiful dead disciple

The young man who loves easily and naturally looks at you through delicate eyes. Like a slender Roman statue, like an angel. His pupils that hover in their glass housing under the heavy eyelids have never seen a foul deed committed by their owner and hardly understand those of others.
If he knew the difference between his world and your's, he'd tell you it's women's breasts. The sight of a breast to you is privilege but he would like to tell you that women often walk around with their breasts exposed. They dance shirtless in their living rooms and watch the sunlight shimmer on their translucent skin, they wear loose fitting bathrobes and take secret pleasure in the way the silk caresses their lovely skin. A woman does not have to be in a moment of ecstasy to start at the bottom of her breast and drag the very tips of her fingers oh so slowly all the way around the curve and end in a gentle pinch and tug of the nipple. And they don't take their nipples for granted, either. If you asked him how he knows this, he would tell you it's because he is privy to the world of naked women because he has been the lover of so many.
The boy looking at you through tear-filled eyes. His face contorted with frustration. Your hand around his neck oppresses his breath. He truly can not understand why you are choking him and what it is you seek to learn by extinguishing his spark. The advantage of your world over his is realized and your way of getting what you want by force of will converts him. His world of beautiful naked women that informed his loving gaze evaporating, and then gone like they never existed like the fantasies of some author up in flames in the furnace.
Your beautiful dead disciple in the loving embrace of the dirt and the leaves.