I heard the fighter jets circling overhead.
Put out the sputtering candle, love
and we'll take refuge beneath the rickety sofa bed,
seek shelter on the other side of a spliced reality.
A mood splattered disarrayed against one wall,
an emotion ruptured upon the dirty carpet.
Lie still next to me and we'll weather the action
hand in hand, flesh in flesh.
a treatise of sorts
"i’m so locked into myself i can't breathe," she said. he flicked a cigarette, watched the shadows shimmer on the walls. "can't we do it differently this time around?" the shadows deconstructed themselves into pools of darkness that oozed along the floor, warbling along beams of black, skittering away from the faint starlight from a farther room. her vision broke. his voice shattered. someone high above began a painstaking operation with a long-handled broom and an old metal dustpan. it wasn't until later that the water vapor carried enough weight to coalesce into drops, which cascaded to the ground in a torrent of joy: everything she had hoped for, and more. rivulets of clarity trickled into the dust, and something new was born. a treatise of sorts.
there is a direction that would not be the way to go. it leads to this heap of broken appliances and shards of images and jagged comments: knocking on a suburban door on a cold birthday, ordinarily i would find it highly entertaining to watch you squirm; lying on the splintery floorboards of a cold wooden house, while others keep blankets and mattresses to themselves; stripped naked high and shivering, but it's best this way; staring into the blank eyes of plastic dolls, you're going to hate me when i tell you what i've done. she thinks she would prefer to dance. (can you really say the past has no relevance? yes.) a treatise of sorts.
i drew a prayer for you with a long finger in a lake of slush; watched the water fill in the lines. no; it was a prayer for me. what's the difference, anymore?
Something about look, i opened my entire being to you, and you said, actually i think i'd prefer tea and crumpets.
Something like i unlocked all the secret drawers of my silent self and you rummaged through them, decided there wasn't anything that was quite to your taste, and turned away, leaving things in disarray.
“i’m so locked into myself i can’t breathe”, she said, she thinks she would prefer to dance, lying on the splintery floorboards, watching the shadows deconstruct themselves, reconstructed, and something new was born, trickling into the dust.