Posted by marko on 1/16/2007, 8:38 am you know that i could kill you right now, don’t you? it was either a diamond or shattered beyond repair. it scene 152 i’m not making this up. i swear to god i saw it move. a mystic is a schizophrenic with theological skills scene 154 i’m in an awkward position. the sun hasn’t moved in so i run the back of my hand from her arc up to her neck
65.167.39.233
scene 150
i could do it & not feel a thing. i wouldn’t think twice.
i wouldn’t remember unless i was caught. but i won’t
get caught. nobody knows the connection. you may have
mentioned my name to some friends or co-workers,
but i doubt they’d remember my last name, if you
even tagged it on. why would you? it wouldn’t mean
a thing to them. my name isn’t on the mailbox. all the
bills are in your name. i get no mail her at all. i didn’t
fill out a change of address form. in fact, i never have.
i eave nothing behind that can tie me to the future.
i could bash in you ####ing skull for what you did to
me. i’d feel justified. did you think i wouldn’t get
suspicious? i don’t trust anybody. why makes you
think i’d trust you. i was always watching. i was always
listening. i knew you’d pull something like this. i
could cut you to pieces. but you know i won’t. there’s
no fear in your eyes at all. what does that mean? that
you don’t care. that you know me that well. now you
have me confused. i need time to think this out. will
you move over? can i lie next to you awhile? could you
hold me until it’s over?
scene 151
disappeared as quickly as it surfaced. or else it held
on for dear life, clinging to you until you both went
down. it could be something that never belonged here.
it could be something that i suddenly remembered
after all these years. or it may have been there all along,
& deep inside i knew it, but i refused to acknowledge
anything that could make me blush like a schoolboy,
or get under my skin, leaving a burning itch surrounded
by roses. a name i’ve honestly forgotten. it could have
been a story i told so many times that it couldn’t slip
away from me. or it could have been an ugly slice
that looked much worse than it was.
just a small twitch. most would have missed it, but
not me. i was watching it closely. i never stopped
believing it would return some day—if only as a blink
of the eye. i had faith. at least it felt like faith to me.
who’s to judge? isn’t delusion a form of faith? your
way of believing this is the way it will be. it doesn’t
matter what gets in the way. it will find a way around
it. i’m sure it meant something important. things like
this don’t happen for no reason. when did supernatural
become such a dirty word—something co-opted by
the new age to turn a buck. i’m not in this for the money.
there’s a change of clothes because everything goes with
black, & the stars don’t lie, they’re lied to. & they’re
one consistent. nothing survives that long simply by
keeping it’s distance. blinking out signals that could
be interpreted in as many ways as there are grains of
sand. there was no blinding light. there was no eerie,
cold chill. there was no absence that needed filled.
there’s no reason for me to tell you this if it weren’t
true.
scene 153
that hold up in court. words that occasionally match
the textbook version. words that sound more like a
promise than a possibility. a schizophrenic is a mystic
tarred & feathered instead of a songbird that draws
comparisons to a nightingale. an albino minstrel
unaccompanied out of embarrassment that it just
doesn’t fit the master plan that’s left in third world
poverty along with a sandwich because it’s a package
deal you understand, can’t have one without the other.
or tucked in a motel drawer stamped no not remove,
so it lies there untouched & they steal the towels instead.
either way the lines become so blurred there’s no way
of knowing who to believe. but we’re told to choose
or else.
long that it appears the days have given up, just laid down
& died. i’m either a sitting duck or absolutely free to do
anything i want. the truth is a thin wire. it can’t be seen
with the naked eye. there’s no room for error. there’s no
room for another interpretation. there’s no vacancy. there’s
no trespassing allowed. a decision will have to be made.
that is, unless it’s already been decided. being a proponent
of free will i can’t walk that line. & i’m not certain about
many things. i see circles within circles, stars within stars.
i could count my certainties on two hands if i clapped them
together. not as in applause, but killing a nuisance—if i
connect. a koan if i miss. i’m in a dangerous position. i’d
change the station if i weren’t so breakable. i’d suggest
another approach if only the voices would stop pushing me
around, causing me to lose my place.
scene 155
several times. my mouth eventually replaces my fingers.
i know exactly what she likes. rolling over on to her
back, she turns her face toward me. i trace every feature
though i know them by heart. a tall man with prematurely
thinning hair fills out his income tax form. he checks no
dependents. he thinks about cheating. but he doesn’t.
she came right out & told me. it usually takes awhile for
this to surface. for someone to be this open. a beloved
grandmother is propped up in a hospital bed barely able
to speak. i want to wind the bed down. she looks uncomfortable.
i want to whisper to her that there’s no need for words any
more. a morphine drip keeps perfect time. this is disconcerting.
this is torture. she’s physically wasting away. memories hover
like ghosts, waiting. i wave my arms around, trying to chase
them off. i’m told to quit acting up. a younger man lies in bed
saturated with narcotics. yet he can’t sleep. he stares up at
something no one else can see. i wrap my arms around her
breasts, pulling her warm softness toward me. i want to close
all the distance between us. there is nothing else that lets me
forget so completely.
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