GO HOME! yelled the jesuit priest over the jukebox as she sprawled
across the pool table. While the failed poet on the barstool told of the
time an army of troubador ants came with a summons. And—at the
standoff—filled with rage and lament she screamed, and screamed on
for the chardonnay!
scream at the door
oh what a wailing
night hours fading, the ceiling becoming a darker mirror of
the music and a screeching
soprano that
won’t stop or someone will you please tie a rope across her ordinary
treatise of welcome. As with all of us: Welcome. Ideas, sifting on the
desk, discarded limbs and disembodied entities wait for a donor from the
waiting list, to adopt from jars of volatile radiance along the cryptic rack
of emotions while screaming—oh scream on—Scream for chardonnay!
kick in the door, oh kick Kick In
apparently, she is not concerned for the door
The poor door Give her the chardonnay It is of no use to you Your knobs
of brass and deadbolt are no match for this vapor on the rack, waiting to be
released like a storm into skin A balloon of skin inflating to the point of—
oh yes Oh Yes—Scream on for the chardonnay!
Ah, strange life enflamed
It is bizarre to have a body
To be a body To be in bed To be not asleep
she ... a fretted instrument of unstrung emotions;
and a sick piano-tuner he is
to want her love
she, so undesirable
he, so desiring
on the space, on top of our space: Your face, on the pillow drunk and
laughing at the noise upstairs, when you said,
‘It is beautiful, isn’t it? Our wants and our needs’
Your breath reeked of cigarettes. I turned and moaned into your
armpit, ‘Sleep . . . I need to sleep,’ and you turned without speaking but the
reply came pink as a salmon.
Keith Nathan Brown recommends "Free Architecture" by B. N. Landry at >kill author.
(For December at Everyday Genius, contributors were asked to recommend something elsewhere on the Internet.)
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