(no subject)
She is in the next room packing her bags. She is violent, slamming doors and dressers shut and open, tearing through the shelving for our valuables. I am pouring her a gin for breakfast and two for myself. The stove is filling the apartment with gas and we sealed all the windows tight to make us move a little bit faster. And If we decide to stay she set out a baking sheet and a block of rock hard cookie dough to throw in at the last minute so we can maybe just sleep instead...just sleep with a sweeter smell. Her sweat is dripping like awful rain down her spine and I am beginning to chill more knowing that I'm feeling colder than hell. Even with the stove door open pouring warm fumes from its black mouth I can...not...warm. When the ravaging sounds cease she pulls her suitcase out into the living room spilling over with invaluable garbage. A barrage of worthless memorabilia she wanted to fight the last fight for. My bags are filled with love letters from her that she mailed from Paris full of stinking cocteau paintings. Black contour drawings of shirt sleeved men holding whats she said were "the only two thinks you need in life"...A scalpel and a pen. She is sobbing now a bit, her pretty shoulders heaving silently upwards and groundwards. There is no sympathy. This is the purging of the monsters.
The leaves are spilling over the porch. A carpet of things dead and dying that try to overturn our household every time they lay like that. They lay like a taunting. They always lay like that. My peacock is black eyed and sullen, tearing at the science of the mind from the steps of the porch. she is shrouding me in so much filth and simultaneous love that all the wrecking balls in the universe could not create a blast that compares. Look at her and her velvet heart just pacing in front of me. Making the worth of the world miniscule. She wears her ballet shoes around to beat all hope from my heart. The air is escaping us. The apple of my iris is pin pricked and rotten and stuffed full of this horrible wonder. Maybe we can get to the gulf and float like funeral lilies across the earth. She the petty offspring of mermaids and I the used of vampire virus that leaches to her scaled side.
The leaves are spilling over the porch. A carpet of things dead and dying that try to overturn our household every time they lay like that. They lay like a taunting. They always lay like that. My peacock is black eyed and sullen, tearing at the science of the mind from the steps of the porch. she is shrouding me in so much filth and simultaneous love that all the wrecking balls in the universe could not create a blast that compares. Look at her and her velvet heart just pacing in front of me. Making the worth of the world miniscule. She wears her ballet shoes around to beat all hope from my heart. The air is escaping us. The apple of my iris is pin pricked and rotten and stuffed full of this horrible wonder. Maybe we can get to the gulf and float like funeral lilies across the earth. She the petty offspring of mermaids and I the used of vampire virus that leaches to her scaled side.