i am wearing a kimono,
this sheer, garish, floral shred of fabric that wafts about my frame.
the cafe people snip at it with their eyes full of sharp edges.
ive been here all day
the view is terrible,
the music
is like the sound of a snail in seasalt.
little
crackles
of wet flesh hot and retreating, no, burning.
but i am so tired I cant move.
maybe it isn't so bad,
maybe I am just being difficult...
everything,
even the kiss colored leaves that
toss themselves down the boulevard,
seem shrill to me.
all i can
think about
is what you said to me last night
"a pretty face is a loaded gun"
tearing holes into me with your angry eyes.
you know
the line itself is crap,
a splinter in this thigh,
it is snapping, that line, under all the meaning
i gave it in my drunken storm.
i walk along that line,
as though it is stretched between sky scrapers,
high above like a tightrope.
today all the great buildings that surround, give me perspective on my size,
and they hiss
as great, hollow objects seem to do sometimes.
now that iam awake
i see that it doesn't make sense
when you said it
you were swimming in a gin bath and
playing the poet with a shredded heart
but iam trying to give you credit
and find something other then an image
-image of my body
with a heavy, black barrel protruding from my throat
and a tantalizing trigger, curling like a tongue taunting you
to pull it
and blow your ******* skull apart-
you were just trying to offend me thats what i see.
dont blame this face, you are just angry.
goddamm the music here sounds like nails!
that man over there with the sloppylips looks like he might disintegrate
in worse shape then me I think,
I hope.
anyways i was saying dont blame this face
thats right i say iam beautiful,
you said it first though.
though you only said it, in search of the trigger.
christ,
we all need to get up and go,
this place is like a horse's mouth
lets all get up and walk out together in a thread of gorgeous bodies who just
wont take it anymore. lets go.
forget it. wait
what was i saying?
