Conspiracy of Firmaments
We sat close in the shadow of the neighborhood's tallest building passing a bottle of rancid
canadian whiskey.
"How'd she get like this?" Ruddy asked.
"I knew her." Me.
"She's fetching. You can tell."
The steam rose from the heavy pot of mushrooms and pork, framing her face and lending the impression that she had a beard. The last of the kitchen bulbs burnt out and the dim closed around her eyes like clandestine elipses. I profaned god and followed them to her. We were over and I was glad she couldn't see me.She turned the burner up and choked the room in an condemnatory blue.
"It should be done soon." Isn't what she wanted to say. She was and wasn't talking about the soup.
I woke up with my sweater under her, stretched over a dead arm. I'd slept the sleep of the stricken, of the deceased, of the hopeless illiterate. The sun shone in and lit the whole room ugly. The sheet lifted from the mattress on the floor exposing dead salmon. Veins advanced along the ceiling where rainwater greased in, some of them bled. Something in the walls made the drops come out amber. It smelled like gas and fungus, unsafe and grey-green. Twelve days murky. We hadn't seen each other, we didn't speak but the house was filled with the voices of phantoms and insects, invisible all the same.
I left the house in flannel and suede. Squatting was the same thing as living with her, promising nothing but impending doom. There was no future: no leases, no rings. I was sick of being mean so I shaved my beard, packed my blades, foam and brush; I pushed my spectacles up on my nose to look at her and she was bent, just like now. She had less clothes, even in that draft, but she seemed less exposed.
She was dreaming, and I despised her for it. She had curled lips and a head full of pink ambition and all I had was the chorus to this ludicrous song my mother used to sing:
"You know these chickens can't fly
Like these fish can swim
The GOOD Lord's gonna
take me home to him"
I added my own verses as I walked away. A rebuttal.
She must be stupid as a cow
If she's lookin for me
Coz I only left
To set t' damned bitch free
I took the dove from 'er cage
an' I opened my hand
to see which one of us'd
reach the promised land
They got more absurd. Something about referring to riding the rails as bridling a chariot, damned if I remember.
She was beautiful in her way, and I didn't want her lingering in my smoke. She's beautiful now, cold and contorted in the shadow of the tallest building for blocks.
"How'd she get this way?" Ruddy asked.
My eyes closed as if they'd caught sand. I remember her when I left, twisted the way she slept; the way she is now. Dreaming through the sun and the stars while I slept the black sleep of of the stricken. I pried the bottle from my lips; a line of spittle grasped dear. I spilled a drop for every illusion she'd freed herself of, a pearl for every dream she wouldn't see unrealized.
"How'd she get this way?"
"It's hard to say, pal. Either she never knew how good she had it or she knew damn well. I guess."
We stood up and walked away, left her winking at spires. The heavens were laughing at us but you could swear it was rain. Damned fools got mud on their shoes and stumbled blind from the moon's ass. The city was full of rubber towers that wanted to dance, but we had holes in our shoes and weights in our eyes, it was time for the city to rest.
canadian whiskey.
"How'd she get like this?" Ruddy asked.
"I knew her." Me.
"She's fetching. You can tell."
The steam rose from the heavy pot of mushrooms and pork, framing her face and lending the impression that she had a beard. The last of the kitchen bulbs burnt out and the dim closed around her eyes like clandestine elipses. I profaned god and followed them to her. We were over and I was glad she couldn't see me.She turned the burner up and choked the room in an condemnatory blue.
"It should be done soon." Isn't what she wanted to say. She was and wasn't talking about the soup.
I woke up with my sweater under her, stretched over a dead arm. I'd slept the sleep of the stricken, of the deceased, of the hopeless illiterate. The sun shone in and lit the whole room ugly. The sheet lifted from the mattress on the floor exposing dead salmon. Veins advanced along the ceiling where rainwater greased in, some of them bled. Something in the walls made the drops come out amber. It smelled like gas and fungus, unsafe and grey-green. Twelve days murky. We hadn't seen each other, we didn't speak but the house was filled with the voices of phantoms and insects, invisible all the same.
I left the house in flannel and suede. Squatting was the same thing as living with her, promising nothing but impending doom. There was no future: no leases, no rings. I was sick of being mean so I shaved my beard, packed my blades, foam and brush; I pushed my spectacles up on my nose to look at her and she was bent, just like now. She had less clothes, even in that draft, but she seemed less exposed.
She was dreaming, and I despised her for it. She had curled lips and a head full of pink ambition and all I had was the chorus to this ludicrous song my mother used to sing:
"You know these chickens can't fly
Like these fish can swim
The GOOD Lord's gonna
take me home to him"
I added my own verses as I walked away. A rebuttal.
She must be stupid as a cow
If she's lookin for me
Coz I only left
To set t' damned bitch free
I took the dove from 'er cage
an' I opened my hand
to see which one of us'd
reach the promised land
They got more absurd. Something about referring to riding the rails as bridling a chariot, damned if I remember.
She was beautiful in her way, and I didn't want her lingering in my smoke. She's beautiful now, cold and contorted in the shadow of the tallest building for blocks.
"How'd she get this way?" Ruddy asked.
My eyes closed as if they'd caught sand. I remember her when I left, twisted the way she slept; the way she is now. Dreaming through the sun and the stars while I slept the black sleep of of the stricken. I pried the bottle from my lips; a line of spittle grasped dear. I spilled a drop for every illusion she'd freed herself of, a pearl for every dream she wouldn't see unrealized.
"How'd she get this way?"
"It's hard to say, pal. Either she never knew how good she had it or she knew damn well. I guess."
We stood up and walked away, left her winking at spires. The heavens were laughing at us but you could swear it was rain. Damned fools got mud on their shoes and stumbled blind from the moon's ass. The city was full of rubber towers that wanted to dance, but we had holes in our shoes and weights in our eyes, it was time for the city to rest.
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