Living on the Scandinavian streets have humbled her. No Christmas cards with a 20 spot anymore. No trust fund from Mom and Dad. All the money vanished like the last spider of *****, like a dropped bottle of beer. She could go to a shelter by herself, but she chooses life on the streets in the brutal winter to be with her Swedish boyfriend. Love is lunacy--sometimes frozen. Two dead friends last year on a mad moonlit night. Human icicles on the Iowa City streets.
One time while drunk, her and I stole the neighbors canoe. We had her little black dog with us. I dubbed him, Senator Ted Kennedy; probably because we were all drunks, (not the dog) I don't think... We wrestled the canoe into the Iowa river, and immediately proceeded to tip it over. The Canoe sank like a bad bet by Hunter S. Thompson. We could've easily drowned, but we laughed our ***** off, choking and splashing, except Teddy, he swam for Boston.
I sing the body electric. I'm dazzled by the promise of a greater tomorrow. I'm dizzied by the awareness of my own consciousness. My body is merely a container for the soul that begs to be removed from its restrictions, for it is imprisoned within fragile bones and tender flesh. It sings the body electric. A melody that resembles a plea before slowly releasing a sigh in defeat against its enclosure. It yearns from something better than what is offered in such a short span of time. Life is short, they claim but life is indeed long. Long and harsh, the road ahead. We travel forward singing the body electric.