May 11, 2004 13:34
we coexist with spiders,
we refuse to
kill or
exterminate them
just
put them in little cups
and,
into the great wide open.
our house is
carefully maintained & spotless
consisting of bright whites,
several linen sprays,
tic tacs,
a park bench by the doorway
(where you let leon, mary, danny,
chavez, and sam from the sidewalks rest - they
never ask us for money anymore. just hello
how are you. good, you? cold as usual ma'am)
a mediocre abstract painting across our bed
that we discuss with each other during
nick at nite commercial breaks
and when
people ask about it,
we say "sorry, it is personal." but
really its because
we have said and heard
all thats worth
saying
and
hearing.
we care about
the opinions of each other,
and not much else. we
are not quite self absorbed. but
we come the closest when we
face each other in the bath tub
her legs wrapped around me and
fixed against my spine
"this bath is not
small enough"
laughter.
(but we really mean it)
yes, we are the closest to
self absorbed we have ever been
and without the other
i suppose
we'd just be careful about
promising our souls to
demons and car salesmen
signing leases, donating organs
because
self would be
divided into history, lost somewhere
in between
the Lutheran movement
and the pieces of me that i will never get back
inside of her nails and
laugh lines.
as for the spiders, well
we only wish the worst for them.
catching them in cups
and secretly hoping each time
that they havent yet found love or home,
that they havent
found
an excuse to multiply. to build.
to live.
and, your friend
wishes no death
on the innocent
but still wishes
nothing
for humanity in general.
and, i guess
im just saying
we should start
following the spiders before
we exile them, and try
to catch all of the external
pieces that make them
whole as well.
baby, is that too much?
i think you'll
understand.
life is overrated
without
small bathtubs
and
people willing to
be patient
in the bank line
without
flipping someone off.
if one wishes life
on others
then wish them
life. make suitcases
for spiders and
patience for
bill.
we will call him bill
(the man in the bank line)
she hurt his
feelings.
he ignored his
wife all through dinner
thinking about
what he shoulda' said
to that middle finger.
she wonders
why he's said
absolutely NOTHING
about her
haircut.
you understand?
of course. you understand.
now i am reading nabokov to you,
again
before bed.
pretending to not
notice
the steady motion
of your hands
below your hips
back and forth
under the covers
you'd start
to
breathe heavier
around
page 5
you'd
come
every time
at the word
"soliloquy"
i stutter
over it in anticipation.
i cannot say
the word anymore
without stuttering.
sol. il. o.
selil..oh.. jesus.
two sentences away from
jeune fille russe.
thank god.
as you fall asleep against me i
i prey the force
that throws me
into
exile
follows me
first
to your door.