Monday 12/18/2006 11:04:00 PM

We probably didn't walk that far. A few times around the earth with bandages on all ten toes. An anchor in each pocket. That was the way he talked. Laden with years surpassing his age. That was the way he kissed. Lonely. And childless. That was the way he fucked. Like he had something to prove to himself. That he wasn't as old as he felt. That it wasn't too late.

He knew where to rub and what to lick, but it was a beaten path. He'd try to feel, but the package always got in the way. What once was heaven only earth again. Soil between our toes. Footprints all over the bed. Leading away from.

I never faltered for conversation when we talked. Because we were always wasted. That parody of ourselves that had led to all those Sunday afternoons. Painted toenails in tube socks. Armpits yawning for their kisses. Little girls seducing grown men. His bed stroking the walls with a desperate rhythmn. While I laid beneath him. A gnarled tootsie roll. Still in its paper. Confident I'd never be tasted.

2 comments:
Adam said...

I must say I don't know how to react to most of your posts. From a male perspective, I wonder if the women I have dated think or write things like this about me. It is interesting because I associate more with your (the speaker's) feelings rather than the man, but maybe that is just my way of pushing aside my own need to "prove something" as you wrote here.

The images you present are tremendous: "His bed stroking the walls with a desperate rhythym. While I laid beneath him. A gnarled tootsie roll. Still in its paper..." This is a horrific image, and I wonder has this person speaking ever "made love" as cliche as it sounds. It seems like all your references to sex are "fucking" or "the way he fucked." There is never any beauty from the exchange.

I could be missing something, but I have to believe that you (or the speaker) has had an enjoyable sexual encounter.

alcoholic poet said...

writing about the ugly stuff doesn't neccessarily mean you've never experienced beauty.

every moment is equal portions of each. it's our choice which side to focus on and when.

the words are a microscope. they only show one tiny bit of a huge picture. it's small, but they make it look really big.



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