She’s the Wow.

November 15, 2009 at 12:48 am (Alcohol, Female, Home, misogyny, Rooms) (, , , , )

I can think of nothing better than stocking tops, or more horrific than a uterus. Between: the lense blinks. They mistake innocent whale-bruises for a diamond’s mirror tilt, and a fist’s caress. Lips tense, pulled into grins by bliss, to kiss their drooping eyelids.
Our love affaire continues between walls, a concrete tank of rain and smoke. I am given sour commands: Sprint north, or east, or here. Save her, ravish him, leave me.
My flesh crawls with cells. These unnatural X’s pair and germinate to form this hide, and my skin is sick.
The walls shake and creak, they will give at any moment to crack us all from glass to sand. Shoulder blades to sheets, unable to panic my ribcage rolls in heavy waves. Four sloping walls, past occupants bound by space alone pollute the room, they must dissolve. This whole house sways like a drunkard,  I toast with it.

The wine tastes like poison, and it is.
And I like it that way.


1 Comment

  1. T said,

    “That is why the earth is in ruin and the girl is lying dead on her mattress, her head resting on the foam-rubber pillow. A little salva is dripping gently from the side of her mouth.” – War, J . M. G LeClezio

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