nothing after next
nothing after next
kissing with their new mouths made blond by the edges of knives. disappearing into the roofs where their legs begged for reasons. the ones with black dresses wrapped tight around the heart shaped bone as they tell us of their dead lovers dancing. then talk to us like eyes do. but you begin to wonder...
if not for eyes, would they still spill out and over the edges of where they stood talk-singing and come pouring in all red with short breath into blue hallways of bloodless veins? if you are allowing them to speak song, yes.
for them, it is drugs and drink that looses them like whipped dogs into white railroads and avenues. not your soft hard word you say with music on your teeth. and you can shout your fathers song or sing about how you see city sinking from grandmothers brooklyn fire escape, but you are no circus, sir.
thin as you sound, they have already washed themselves dry, and dry is the cleanest you can get.
there is a wall. its wood skin dark like dogs nails. and standing ever so politely (or sitting) with white boned back to this tongue of wall are several wind-up women waiting to ask what all this moaning means. or are themselves now moaning and showing each other the bones of the children they have eaten.
the discussions go something like this:
(there is soft mention of dream seeing and saying sooth through rotting tooth)
"have you heard?"
"oh, i have."
"let's fuck."
etc., etc.
and if not just so then similarly:
"here, put your eyes on this glass shoulder, rolling up, licking my neck, don't look, just touch."
some resolved to grow their fox fur and fangs forward first before hands. watching also from the wall, wanting words for ears. the others hold scissors to their lengths and wear their wolves paws, threaded masks, hats and corrective lenses. all of them with pink ribbons wrapped around their pretty skulls.
i crawl backwards up the steps to where i'll be speaking my brain. i'll try with waste of words to show my guts and get a misplaced chuckle at best, no less. with dark lights shining on my now no-good eye and not seeing. won't try again until i've washed my words dry. and dry is the cleanest you can get.
we were fashioned after animals. the blood-headed and small boned walk awkwardly with smoke mouthed and tall boys. walking like crowded muscles. i rush so my eyes won't rest long and wander to wonder. we cannot lie parallel if we are negative reciprocals. yes, math is mean. and we are wounded wolves wailing under dinosaur bone white moons. our noise is something to be framed.
when you sang, your mouth grew wings and we watched with child wide eyes. and outside, wearing the noise of insects, we spoke in smoke signals and spit/ sat in the grass and laughed as day passed/ and lay lady legs on bones/ and ate stones/ and lied and wanted more.
there are moments when skin breaks free from coverings and shows itself, white or grey, with soft cells moving underneath. and tiniest hairs unseen. and the strange leather of spine that bends will take our eyes away from their holes, like a king with a swollen foot in a fucked up story.