24 April 2005

Cherubs Stealing Empiric Souls

she hides in the library reading henry miller books
'til they flash the lights it's time to go
when she was a little kid she said
"dad i don't know why i feel so penniless inside"
she's on the promenade
she's looking for a dress
she's locked outside a world
just a manchester girl

Seconds are tinny clacks in swing song tables as a steady breeze passes like a world-over sigh just shaking. She's shaking. Call me ecstatic, rolled-up, soullessly invaginated. I am untailored, undrawn, outward [inward climbed].
Thirty seconds she says. I hear the twelve steps clopping off the clog-heeled black rubber, just a chunk-ed reminder of three small things I tend to like to remember. To forget. To remember to forget. Chainsaws burning oil skin lamps, shearing down spinal ideas of what sex has said in the past. They don't remind her of the topical stretch of thighlike beach we all washed up on coughing out the salt-slick mucin lungs, breathing through our skin. Wretched, we left those trilobytes, how wretched she was for that. Those damn aquatic beetles.
I have some homemade memories, brewed for years in the silk-tripped ball of imagination, furrowing like seals on a span of organic carrot filth. I miss the soup, the summer spin tipsy had to it, like houses in twilight rushing in the jasmine and lilac filtered screens. Insects would carry me if I passed out in the grass, suck me dry if I forgot to breathe for more than 15 minutes.
I laughed for exactly 6 days, made love for 9, died and lived and hurried through the stage act drama. The fast pace was what broke us, our constant strain to beat the sun from setting, to brown our backs and blacken our feet, just shuffling off the shore and dancing in the riptide knives of chilled atlantic seastorms.
Seconds are canvases that I can't paint, but she had a way with shapes. Like her hips and crooked hands, the cleft at her lips and the slip on her back. All I knew were colors like blood, red dreams and black and white ideas, blue lawns creeping with the yellow-orange autumn leaves looked over by a green plaster cast of an eerie mindset. Quite a delightful greeting to the world of life as an artshow, no? Cheers.

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