Posted by marko on 1/25/2007, 7:56 am that’s a loaded question if i’ve ever heard one. there scene 187 there is no way to measure one person’s suffering against scene 188 i circle. i jab. i work on the ribs. i throw an uppercut. i’m covered in lies & sequins. nothing fits right. the arms scene 190
65.167.39.176
scene 186
isn’t a single answer that couldn’t be twisted so tight
it looked like it was coming from another direction.
you’ve got me. you win. what now? throw my arms
in the air & shout surrender. make me look like a fool
who didn’t know what he was getting into, what he was
up against. i’m blue in the face, & no closer to a viable
explanation. i have to give you credit. you had it covered.
you made no mistakes. there’s no way out. the more i try,
the deeper i dig my grave. i make one wrong move &
the authorities are on me like white on rice. my side of
the story will be thrown out immediately. even if i
dropped my hands as quickly as i struck the pose, that’s
considered intimidation. it’s the same as if i’d thrown a
blow. if this is the truth, then what would you call what
we’re doing to me.
another’s. even if there was, it would be cold & methodical
& not entirely human. it becomes an experiment with
rulers & compasses, pressure cuffs & laugh tracks. there
is no standard. there is no high water mark. there is no
fault line. this is no solid sympathetic evidence. there are
no steps carefully followed that can guarantee even a
ballpark figure. there is nothing that can be pointed to
as incriminating actions. there is no oracle that shoots up
& bows down. but some will try anything. they need an
answer. everything must be qualified. & their wound is
bigger than your wound. & there cries are heard above
all others. & pain is the bottom line, not death.
i don’t remember what hit me. i open my eyes. the
world’s smudged. i see colors i never noticed before.
i try to stand up. i’m pulled to my feet. i try to protect
my face. it’s too late. my legs won’t take instructions.
i look down & concentrate. left then right, left then
right. i finally move forward. but i don’t have a clue
where i’m going. i hear voices. so there must be others.
but my head is ringing so loud, & i have psychological
issues, so it may be incidental background noise. i
try to speak. my own voice sounds cracked. it may
be broken. i wave an arm as if to signal to the world
i’m still a part of it. but i don’t feel like i am. this
is a different place. like nowhere i’ve ever been.
scene 189
& legs are too short. the shoes & hat too tight. i reach into
my left back pocket where i carry my billfold. it’s empty.
the pocket that is. i don’t know about my wallet. my skin
is crawling with strange vines that pull harder & hiss the
more i struggle, & wrong answers. i thrust my hands into
my front pockets. i’m hoping for a good explanation, but
i’d settle for one of those fortune cookie strips i always save
though i don’t believe a word, or possibly some loose change.
enough to make a phone call. i feel cramped. like i’ve been
squeezed into the tightest spot possible. it obviously wasn’t
built for me. but here i am. i can’t rest because the applause
sign keeps lighting up. then a thousand wind-up monkeys
start smacking together tin-eared cymbals. i bite down hard
on my lower lip. it’s a habit. i do this to help me think. it’s
good to feel the pain. it tells me that a part of me has remained
untouched.
i wake terribly upset. i sit on the edge of the bed. my face
is wet. i’ve been crying in my sleep again. i’m disappointed
that you don’t ask me what’s wrong. then i remember you’re
gone. it begins to snowball. then i forget who you are. you
have long brown hair. you have short brown hair. you have
blonde hair. you have hair frosted a hundred different shades.
your hair is tied in the back. your hair hangs loose. your hair
is the way i like it but when i tell you this you let it grow out.
your eyes are emerald green, but i had remembered them as
blue until i saw you twenty years later & wondered how i could
forget something like that. your eyes are hazel & i’ve never
seen them shed a tear. your eyes are dark brown & slant slightly
& i think it makes you look sad somehow. your eyes are blue
for certain this time. not as in the sky or pale or electric. i think
if i see you twenty years from now they’ll still be blue. i don’t
understand why you no longer care. why you don’t stroke my
back & neck slowly, & tell me everything will be alright.
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