It’s been three years or more and I still can’t get into it. An ordinary angel tossed about feeling disrespected and disillusioned. It’s a junkyard of false starts and reoccurring mistakes. I see reflections of the future in the cup of water. I’m not everything I am supposed to be.
The dog sits silently besides the window, watching rain fall and looking longingly at the leash. We haven’t been outside for days. I can handle this myself but why torture the dog? I grow tired of the dim-witted answers he barks back at me.
I think I can make it back after the end of the day. It’s a slow concept, reconciling myself with only my thoughts to bother me. I’ll try sleep, my body wanting independence from my brain. It’s a closeted process.
First I lay on the right, think of all the possibilities. Then I turn to the left and find all the faults I thought I could escape. On my back my mind is tormented with thoughts of both but then sudden it turns to Paris. In Paris, my mind tells me, you were happy. Europe knows disaster and I am not it. It is the country of cheese, wine and languages
In America I could never figure out what made you so unhappy. Pictures from countries before relapse in the safety of a pitch black mind. A condolence of regrets and remorse little the floor after the winter has past. Cliché, but your vulgar silence offends me. It’s all about what we did and didn’t do.
Instead of talking to me, your repetition and repletion of persecution surrenders to the pain of your mother’s guilt. The first half of my cigarette smoked itself. I cannot tell as you tell me over and over again to “finally show some goddamn emotion”. It was never about the high we discovered but more about the connection that I really craved. The remote memories come seeping back and place me in their righteous addiction.
I’m here today and they expect me to be tomorrow. Looking out at the substitute scene placed before me, I can’t see the future without knowing you now. Decomposition of found objects, shifting my weight from side to side. The main attraction was me, but I tried to pass it off as you. Hiding from the mic and looking in from the side.
In confidence I eagerly promised to stand and deliver. All in all I felt justified to take apart all what wasn’t right. Our versions of honesty are very skewed.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
I lost what I wrote last night (which was really good) but wrote this today instead
Civilian Wars
Placing resentments on the kitchen table. We forget – never forgive. In moment of anger and lust we resign to our garage door loneliness and take for granted the silence that comes before the dawn. In the background Spanish singers speak of stealing souls of lovers – we are spared that for the time being.
Later, in a moment after the tin foil and lace, we twine together like pieces of string and spices. This lack of momentum is all we care for as the sun breaks the contempt between us. Kisses replaced tongue tied lightening as we undressed like cross-eyed strangers, not sure what the other had in store. The obsequious gesture of your finger tracing my nipple had an uncertainty that could not go un-notice but yet made it hard.
The vigorous judgment lay between the sheets soiled in a magnitude of lust and betrayal. I always do something your not quite sure is right and your eyes list all my simple mistakes. I am young, I say, I will learn. The borderline between sanity and remaining calm in the placating morning light that never really touches the corners of my mind.
Later we resign to the shower that exhumes all doubt of reasonable debate. The mirror shows two lovers stripping the dirt and misunderstandings and washing it down the drain with the soap and water. Your skin becomes a mellow light of gold while mine might embarrass a porcelain plate. You ask why we never did this before and I think so innocently that it might not have come to mind. Your hands wash my hair and I touch your back so softly it might have been the breeze from the open window.
The dawn turns to midday and midday to afternoon and so on and so forth. We lay in silence as the day looses itself to nightfall. The warmth of your skin turned snow to ice. The moon smiled in a beautiful but yet annihilating way and in the distance we hear fireworks left over from a celebration of independence.
The rose colored glasses you bought me stand aside the bed waiting to be worn. Gathering your resentments from the kitchen table, I realize it is always you who leaves first.
Placing resentments on the kitchen table. We forget – never forgive. In moment of anger and lust we resign to our garage door loneliness and take for granted the silence that comes before the dawn. In the background Spanish singers speak of stealing souls of lovers – we are spared that for the time being.
Later, in a moment after the tin foil and lace, we twine together like pieces of string and spices. This lack of momentum is all we care for as the sun breaks the contempt between us. Kisses replaced tongue tied lightening as we undressed like cross-eyed strangers, not sure what the other had in store. The obsequious gesture of your finger tracing my nipple had an uncertainty that could not go un-notice but yet made it hard.
The vigorous judgment lay between the sheets soiled in a magnitude of lust and betrayal. I always do something your not quite sure is right and your eyes list all my simple mistakes. I am young, I say, I will learn. The borderline between sanity and remaining calm in the placating morning light that never really touches the corners of my mind.
Later we resign to the shower that exhumes all doubt of reasonable debate. The mirror shows two lovers stripping the dirt and misunderstandings and washing it down the drain with the soap and water. Your skin becomes a mellow light of gold while mine might embarrass a porcelain plate. You ask why we never did this before and I think so innocently that it might not have come to mind. Your hands wash my hair and I touch your back so softly it might have been the breeze from the open window.
The dawn turns to midday and midday to afternoon and so on and so forth. We lay in silence as the day looses itself to nightfall. The warmth of your skin turned snow to ice. The moon smiled in a beautiful but yet annihilating way and in the distance we hear fireworks left over from a celebration of independence.
The rose colored glasses you bought me stand aside the bed waiting to be worn. Gathering your resentments from the kitchen table, I realize it is always you who leaves first.
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