GreenDomes

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Excerpt from "Craceytown"

I remember you there at those conversations. You took my breath away. Night of nights. So I killed them all away from you. So what? What next? I don’t owe what you don’t owe. Milkman said leave me. I said, no.
Why is that your new thing? Brag away from me. I need to sit a while. Right now. Himself is gone, leaving the cold flooded homebrand. To the light, he sings. To the light. Ain’t that the shit to beat it all. I’m yellinm’ children.
I can throw and hit a little.


Found the six polished rocks in the grass. Waiting for Dad. Mom don’t want to not know where he is. He worries her. We wait and wait. Dad’s still not done with his work. The new lady boss has him cleaning extra classrooms. Mom waits and worries, and prays Dad will come back to work tomorrow. Six Polished rocks, one of which was petrified glorious wound wood, made it easy that day to let my mind go the better. Better you and much better me.

Six pound fourteen schneebleys.

Black rat back, you bastard.
And then homeward boun’ we were, off to ride the roller to church. Hear Dad rock the bass on the way. I might listen, might not. Figure figure. Figure.

Left a gift by the door of your mystery. Left it there—elephants alone. Two. Didn’t care—home or not. I was not the worrisome warrior anymore. I can still see the drip. Still see the misunderstood motion for love. Motion love—motion of love. Bring over to Higgenbothemgall corner and watch ballbanyon from the lookerland hello seats. I’m from that plateau and have hid there among the bears and everbeasts. I hiked for glory—plateaued for pain. But you can’t listen anymore. Went the wind wild west, you say. And I’ve harmed.

Maybe you didn’t ask. Maybe it was I all along wanting the image broken. Yes passive. Would should could, might perhaps if why care? Line over the double ee. See. Shined on the wicked sided walleyed mishmosh of the others. The zoo keeper’s hungry grizzly contemplating that leap over the moat to the rush of loud lucsious children to eat. I saw and warned him. He didn’t jump.

And the fine fire built here within me, thank you.

It’s walked a path ground down to nearly the core of me. The center gleaming bright but the details around the edge stomped soft to bits. Truth to tell the more you tell the more the more. Round and round the center right.
And all my little soldiers turned it into a sales numbers game. How many would it take?
How many outlaws would we take on return to Craceytown?

The bouncing lady in big dark sunglasses barreling down a road that hugged the edge of a deep-sided canal. Blipped that bump and turned that lump upside down in the water. Seatbealt drowned her. Rush the children away and help them forget they watched her die—centered at the fence in silence, helpless to the wicked mess—def and isolated. Mate the memory to…la dee da. Incandescent blue tubes over TV’s uncle teacher, and we all laughed at the ads differently, embarrassed that we did. The beard and his trivia. Sports and all the rich little tits—I pop my jaw and impact wisdom teeth. Made ‘em want to shake me awake. Made ‘em work.

You pass the bills I can’t pass back. You yell and yell and stir the neighbors’ cats. But I can’t pass back. And here’s where’s it’s authorized. And have a nice day. And goodbye.

Throw out the friend’s brother for trying to touch mine. I’d kill and might have once neffortlessly.
I’m a legal drug dealer. See kids, I ask physicians to push and peddle my pretty pills twice daily for the rest of their lives. So bad? So sad. Never mind crossed combs and mirrors or piles of shave cream. Nevermind. I understand. Lipstick lounge.

As I said, the sound of death was wild. Right of my life. Next time. Won’t be a side of guilt I waited to tell you might fall off the table. Make more sense she says. You’re losing them. I’ve lost them but I have a plan I say. You’ll see it’ll grow like an erection and retract even slower. You’ll see.
Here we go.
So there we were, angry, old, rejected, forbidden, and left to wander. There in a fellowship doorbelless laundryhouse for coldboys.

1 Comments:

  • You lost me, but maybe conceptual mapping was never the intent. I did receive a feeling or vibe, disconcerting, energetic but uncontrolled... I would be interested in hearing what concrete forces drove such an abstract expression.

    By Blogger Extra Gravy, at 6:26 AM  

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